They Loved Me There

Among the almost countless running gags on the Jack Benny radio show was the response “Saint Joe! They loved me there!” when the city of St. Joseph, Missouri was mentioned.

It was only natural, then, that Jack and his cast would head to the city for one of many road stops during the war years. Originally, the broadcast of March 7, 1943 was supposed to originate from St. Joseph but Jack came down with a serious case of pneumonia that knocked him off the air for five weeks. He didn’t reschedule it until February 18, 1945.

It turns out they really did love Jack there, judging by the editorial page of the St. Joseph Gazette of February 21st. Robert Gordon devoted his “Top O’ the Morning” column to the goings-on at the hotel where the cast was staying, and fans decided to stake out.

SCENES shot by a hotel lobby kibitzer: Jack Benny's claim that “This is greatest reception I have received anywhere,” may well be true. For, in addition to the many official functions honoring the troupe, autograph seekers and the curious kept the lobby of the Robidoux Hotel as tightly packed as a pile driver lunch box, and the revolving door leading Into the lobby spun like a roulette wheel most of the time that Benny and his company were here.
Youngsters, and some not so young, crowded around the elevator doors and watched wide-eyed as though they were at a three ring circus. A groan of appointment went up whenever the elevator came down empty of without any celebrities. The elevator girls were in their glory, with the crowd hanging on their every word. Occasionally a rumor would spread that radio stars were coming in or had gone out another way and were now in front of the hotel. The call of "Fire!" couldn't have caused a more dynamic exodus. You won't believe this, but on several occasion the wind from the swinging door swept several people, in the middle of the lobby, off their feet.
One little girl, displaying the autographs of Alice Fay, Jane Wyman and Mary Livingstone, was the hero of her set Saturday afternoon. She explained her success this way: “When I knocked on the door, the maid told me to get along. But I told her I was alone, and she got the autographs for me.”
The high spot of the unofficial performance of the cast came Friday noon when Lewis Shady, Gazette and News-Press photographer, deployed Rochester and Benny all around the old 1922 Maxwell, commandeered for the parade which was called off, barking command like a drill officer and snapping shots from all angles. Jack and Roch (as Benny called him) obeyed promptly and to the letter Shady's every whim—Jack, worrying as he did about Roch catching cold.
Another high point of interest was reached when Rochester and Larry Stevens, the singer, garbed for fishing, burst into the lobby with a long string of fish and proudly posed with their catch.
Side glances at the stars: Patient fans, who stuck in the lobby tenaciously, will have many things to remember about this visit of the Benny troupe.
They will remember Jane Wyman, for example, who was rushing into the Chamber of Commerce luncheon Friday noon, but turned around and smiled graciously when an impatient fan called, “Turn around, Jane, so we can see you.” They will remember Benny and Rochester patiently signing autographs. Jack, in a trench coat and wide-brimmed brown hat, looked serious, almost pensive, but signing autographs willingly and rapidly. Rochester, wearing a lopsided, infectious grin, will be remembered for his bantering of the autograph seekers. Signing autographs after being photographed with his string of fish, he got one little girl's autograph pad dirty. “See,” he said, “fish scale. You'll grow up to be a musician.”
They will remember kinky-haired Phil Harris, band leader, with a half-smile on his lips and a cigaret clinched between them, signing autographs with the rapidity of an assembly line. No one can be sure whose name he signed, however, because the speed with which he signed caused his writing to look like turkey tracks,
Or perhaps they will remember Larry Stevens, backed off into a corner, signing autographs, and patiently listening to a local youth telling him how lucky he is and how everyone envies him. Larry, readily agreeing he was lucky, said: “I can hardly believe it myself. One day I was singing at my work in a filling station. Mary Livingstone drove in, and next thing I knew I was auditioning with the Jack Benny show.”
As often happen, the fans pulled several boners while seeking out celebrities. Jovial, gigantic Don Wilson, announcer on the Benny radio show, went about his business of cashing a check in the lobby Saturday afternoon and had gone into the coffee shop to eat lunch before he was recognized and mobbed. Yet George W. Heller, superintendent of the district Prudential office here, was stopped for his autograph while casually passing through the lobby. When he demurred, he was asked. “Aren't you a member of Phil Harris’ band?” He explained that he had never gotten any nearer to Phil Harris than the next barber chair and moved on.
Jane Wyman and Mary Livingstone, with scarfs on their heads, scooted past the crowd at the elevator and were on their way down the street shopping before recognition dawned on the fans. Suddenly they declared in unison, “There go Jane and Mary.” It reminded us of the comedian who starts blithely on the next joke, and then stops flat-footed when he suddenly realizes that the straight man has turned the last gag on him.
Two other local men who had interesting experiences at the Robidoux were George Jackson, deputy clerk of the federal court, and Leland E. Becraft, executive secretary of the Community Chest. Mr. Jackson, while passing through the lobby, stopped to give us a tip to watch the cop at the door. He hadn't finished his first sentence when an eager audience gathered around to hear what he had to say.
And Mr. Becraft reports getting haircut in a chair next to one occupied by Jack Benny. The manicurist asked Benny if wanted a manicure, and he cracked: "No, thanks. I bite ‘em off."