Jack Benny did all three kinds. An example of the last kind is below, taken from Microphone, a newspaper aimed at fans, from November 23, 1934. It’s pretty evident the conversation below never happened. Mary’s character at the outset was somewhat of a ditz. You can see that here. Jack and Mary were on a comedy show so the newspaper did a comedy interview. The photo accompanied the article.
The Bennys At Home, Or Jack And Mary On Speaking Terms
Jack Bares All In An Interview
They Have Tiffs Like Everyone
The scene is the living room of the Mr. and Mrs. (MARY LIVINGSTONE) JACK BENNY apartment in New York City.
It is impossible to give the time or the day because Mr. and Mrs. BENNY are never at home. Or practically never, what with broadcasting, personal appearances, theatrical work and earning a living.
Nevertheless, through the use of tiny mirrors, the BENNYS are in and are observed seated as follows: (Left to write) MARY LIVINGSTONE (she is Mrs. JACK BENNY) and JACK BENNY, who is the husband of MARY LIVINGSTONE. No one else is present except dust on the piano.
A Crisis in the Family
It is apparent (no puns about fatherhood) that there is a crisis in the lives of the BENNYS. JACK is biting his nails and clipping his words. MARY has her words all neatly clipped. A look of deep concern, even care, yes, even anxiety is noted on the faces of both.
JACK is poring over a folder. MARY is pouring a roast beef sandwich. A folder has just arrived by dog train from the National Broadcasting Company. Peeking over JACK'S shoulder (excuse it, please) we find it is a questionnaire sent to JACK to fill out for publicity purposes.
One glance, well perhaps two, and JACK has found that to answer the questions he "must bare all." He can hardly bear it. So can MARY.
There are millions of questions, or so it seems. But hush, the microphone is open. They are speaking—and to each other.
JACK—But MARY, it asks my professional name and my real name. What does that mean?
MARY—Oh, just say you’re my husband and let it go.
JACK—Oh, all right (Writes) "Mr. MARY LIVINGSTONE."
MARY—This next question about where you live and your telephone number. Skip it.
JACK—But MARY . . .
MARY—I said, skip it.
JACK—Have we got a press agent?
MARY—Yes; MARY LIVINGSTONE and JACK BENNY.
JACK—Now it asks, "What do you do?"
MARY—Well, we have fun.
JACK—But it wants to know what we do on the radio.
They "Have Fun"
MARY—Oh! Well, well, tell 'em we have fun. It IS fun, isn't it?JACK—For you, yes. But think of all the hard work I do. All you do is act natural.
MARY—Is that so? Just because you write dumb lines in for me, I suppose you think I'm that way. I was smart enough to marry you, wasn't I? And besides—
JACK—Jump it. What program are we on now?
MARY—Some General; but I don't remember whether its Tires or Foods.
JACK—Look it up in the papers.
MARY—Ohh, look! It says how tall are you. Well, put down that you have to bend over a little when you kiss me and that you weigh too much to sit on my lap but not enough to ruin your figure and that you've got the nicest complexion, all tanned and everything, and that your hair is fascinatingly black and grey.
JACK—This was a questionnaire, not a romantic novel . . .
MARY—Ain't I telling the truth?
JACK—I know, but let's get on with this. What is my marital status?
MARY—Oh, we have our little tiff the same as other folks.
JACK—No, MARY. You don't get it—my marital status!
MARY—Well, I said you were about five feet and nine inches.
JACK—All right, all right. I'm married. That's the answer.
MARY—That's what I've been telling everybody.
JACK—(Reads) "Where and when were you born?"
MARY—I wasn't there at the time so you'll have to answer it by yourself. And probably get it wrong.
The Aging Mr. Benny
JACK—All right. Chicago, on—but perhaps I shouldn't tell my age.
MARY—Oh, getting temperamental?
JACK—No, just cautious.
MARY—All right, all right. (Reads) "First professional engagement? Any special circumstances? Anecdotes? Humorous incidents ?" How would you answer that one? Hey Toots?
JACK—Excuse me, Miss LIVINGSTONE, this is serious.
MARY—Wrong again. The serious was in Detroit and St. Louis.
JACK—Delete it. Anyway I left school to take a job in vaudeville in a theatre in Waukegan, Ill. The theatre closed the following week.
MARY—Why knock yourself?
JACK—I had nothing to do with it.
MARY—You can believe that—if you care to.
JACK—But I haven't got any anecdotes.
MARY—Well, if you have, save 'em for the program. It needs them.
JACK—Why, MARY!
Using the "Old Ones"
MARY—I'm sorry, JACK. You ARE using all those old ones, aren't you?
JACK—Why, MARY!
MARY—Skip it!
JACK—That settles it. I won't do anything more. You're even stealing my lines in private life.
MARY—Anyway, people don't want to know about you. Just wait until they send me a questionnaire. I can ask as many questions as anybody.
JACK—But you don't ask questions in a questionnaire, you answer them.
MARY—Well, they shouldn't have sent you one, then. Remember the other night when I asked you why you kept me waiting . . .
JACK—Skip it, twice.
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