Benny began his network radio career in May 1932 sponsored by Canada Dry. He made fun of the soft drink during commercials. The company wasn't bubbling with happiness. After it tried a change of networks and forced a new writer on him, the soft drink maker cut him loose and Jack found himself out of work in less than a year.
Then Chevrolet signed him. Chevy dealers loved the show. The radio audience did, too. But one of the top people at the car maker thought a comedian wasn’t dignified enough for General Motors’ low-price division so Jack was dumped again on April Fool’s Day 1934.
Before his last broadcast, the Hays MacFarland agency of Chicago (Chevrolet was represented by Campbell Ewald) hooked up the Benny broadcast with General Tire at the insistence of the tire maker’s owner, Bill O’Neil. The revised Benny show hit the air on 41 NBC Red network stations Friday. April 6th. The publicity machine at the agency or NBC churned away. An article about the show appeared in the May 20, 1934 edition of Screen and Radio Weekly, a magazine supplement that appeared in the Milwaukee Journal, Detroit Free Press, Atlanta Constitution and other papers (internet sources saying it began in 1935 are incorrect).
This was supposedly written by Jack himself. Interestingly, some of the quotes are found verbatim in other newspaper columns, including the one about how his name is spelled, along with some (not all are the same) answers to the “Where were you born?” question. They go back to 1932.
At first thought, I suspected this was written by Harry Conn, who wrote a good portion of Benny’s radio show at the time. But in the portion describing the writing, there is no mention of Conn. Frankly, Conn’s ego would never have stopped him from inserting himself into the story, so it must have been written by someone else.
The switch to General Tire meant a change in some personel. Announcer Alois Havrilla could not continue and was replaced by Don Wilson. Orchestra leader Frank Black was also otherwise committed so Don Bestor and his musicians were brought in. This resulted in confusing dialogue referenced in the story (with asterisks added for some reason). Also the first episode’s sketch involved a music store supposedly owned by vocalist Frank Parker. There’s a reference to that in the story as well.
In reading the description of the show, remember there was no Rochester, no Dennis Day, no Phil Harris, no Maxwell, no age 39, no underground vault. All of that came much later. Still, this version of the Benny show was very popular, thanks to the movie parodies and jabs at the sponsor.
The story comes from the Detroit paper; I don’t know what substitutions were made for place names in other papers.
The Name Is 'Benny' – With a ‘B’ Please
By Jack Benny
Written for Screen & Radio Weekly
HELLO there! Remember me? I'm Jack Benny.
How's that, you haven't forgotten me?
That's fine. Nice people, you Detroiters. Speaking of Detroit, I used to know a fellow out there. I think his name was Murphy, or was it Ford? Oh, well, names never were my forte. So, we'll let it pass.
Oh yes. I've been asked to write a piece * * * a piece about * * * Say, what do I do * * * Radio! Radio comedy, that's it. I'm always getting my jobs confused.
Anyway I am now supposed to be a journalist. You don't get it? Well, I can't help what you're thinking. Maybe the Screen and Radio Weekly has made a mistake. Maybe they were looking for Mencken or Lowell Thomas and they got me by mistake. I'm always being confused with those literary fellows.
Well, since radio is my subject, suppose we begin with the New Deal. There's room for thought! We might as well tackle a nice simple subject. Economics, sociology, foreign trade, tariffs, international debts, what Roosevelt is doing, what Congress is not doing! Take your pick. Oh, you don't want any? Well, suppose we avoid these rudimentary fields of thought and go on to something deeper. Radio comedy!
You like that?
O.K. Let's get started.
AS I pointed out earlier, this might as well be about radio comedy. And since the editor has asked me, it's not my fault that you're reading this. (Or are you?) So, I guess you’ll have to take it.
But, just in case some of you have been wondering about the present state of the comedy that comes pouring in upon you from the NBC microphones (after all, some of you may have heard of our Friday night show), I do have an idea or two despite what Havrilla * * * I mean Wilson! I am never going to get this thing straightened out * * * may think of me. Anyway don't take Black * * * I mean Bestor or Parker too seriously. They are three jealous meanies. Why, the way those guys steal my lines!
Now, seriously, we have lots of fun on our new program. And I'll tell you a secret. We're kidding most of the time. Uh-huh! A big bunch of good-hearted kids. Don Bestor is swell. So is Don Wilson. Gee, we've got an awful lot of Dons on this new program.
As I have suggested the boys take the ribbings like gentlemen. It's really all in fun. A lot of it is hard work, but much of it is pleasant. It's a joy to work with my gang. Hard workers! Willing! Loyal! A little dumb, maybe, but that's all right! After all I'm supposed to be the comic and leading character. At least that's what I draw my salary for.
Now, this matter of radio comedy. You may have wondered why we do all the kidding. In case you just haven't realized it, we strive for informality on our program.
I mean we work hard to make you believe we are anything but serious. Do you get it? I know it sounds screwy and a bit hazy, but I believe the best radio comedy is that that appears to be wholly spontaneous and natural.
Now, if one of the boys feels like inserting crazy idea, we just let it slip in. I'm just naturally generous, you see.
LET me illustrate what I mean. It was Frank Parker's idea that we should put him in the music business. That fitted naturally into his role as the soloist. A bright boy, Frank! Of course there may be some catch in letting Frank get away with an idea like that. He may want a raise or a night off. It doesn't always pay to let your performers take too much rope. I'll see to that.
I'm sure you'll agree with me that one of the best lines created for a long time in radio comedy was Graham McNamee's slip on gasoloon. That break was worth millions of laughs and Ed Wynn still uses it with good effect. We don't mind therefore if one of our Barrymores (I mean Mary), Clark Gables (myself) or Wallace Beerys (Don Wilson) muffs his or her lines.
Eddie Cantor is a genius at picking up such opportunities. They add spice to the scripts and the best comedy thrives on a lost or pronounced word or a twisted situation. A man like Cantor always comes out ahead of the game, whatever happens during the performance.
Our own technique isn't very baffling, although we may build our program a little differently. I sketch out the general script idea; that is, we decide we'll do a Russian drama (with vodka and sound effects) or a travelogue.
Then Mary and I think of all the ideas that could possibly go into such a script. We edit our material and then whip it into radio form. We meet with the production people on Wednesday and read the story over together. Suggestions are given and sometimes the whole idea is discarded and a new one has to be developed. On Thursday we have our first rehearsal. We read the dialogue with everybody present. We ask for more suggestions and get plenty of them. Sometimes I am even overruled and have to toss out, a perfectly classic line; a line that might have otherwise gone down (the chute) in literature.
Perhaps it may surprise you Highland Park, Grosse Pointe and Grand River people to learn that I once had poetical ambitions. Now this poetry business is always cropping up in rehearsals and I have to work like the dickens to repress it. You see it strikes Mary the same way, only she isn't able to curb her poetical bent I have to do it for her. But I feel very sorry for Mary since there isn't anything in the world so sad to me as a squelched poet.
WELL, after we have thoroughly read the script we put on a full rehearsal. Don Bestor has already worked on his Ellis Islanders, I mean his orchestra. (Darn it, if those fellows would only shave!) If we happen to need sound effects we call in Ray Kelly, the NBC sound wizard. Egad, how that fellow can think up all of those eerie whams, whacks and bongs, I don't know.
We spend a couple of hours which way and that, tightening or loosening our product to fit the half hour, polishing our choice verbs and perfecting our flawless diction.
After we have finished our practising we sign off for the day and I insist upon taking Mary to the movies so that she won't keep her mind on the program too much. You know how football coaches do? Take the boys to the movies on the eve of a big game. That's me. I always work psychology upon my gang and it works, sometimes.
Now that we have disposed of these weighty matters, suppose I answer some of the questions that your radio editor has asked me.
“LET ME HAVE THE TRUTH, BENNY STOP MY READERS DEMAND THE TRUTH STOP WERE YOU OR WERE YOU NOT BORN IN DETROIT STOP REPLY BY PAID WESTERN UNION STOP” This is what the wire said. Can you beat it?
All right, since you feel that way about it, I wasn't born in Detroit. But I like Detroit I like the way you build automobiles out there. They're good cars, safe, dependable—Whoa! I mustn't try to slip the product in here. But if you don't keep on making cars out there, how do you expect me to sell tires? Since the editor wanted especially to know about my place of origin I might as well say it was Lake Forest, Ill. Ever hear of it? Of course you did, Chicago's just on the outskirts.
Now since modesty forbids filling the rest of this paper about myself, I will include a recent interview which Joe Scruggs, a reporter from the Bingville Bugle was kind enough to write about me. This is Joe's pen from here on. Take it Joe!
"Oh that's O.K., shoot," he said. "I don't mind, but please spell my name right. I'm Jack Benny and not Jack Denny of orchestra 'ennys. Get it right Benny * * * B, as in Bean Soup; E, as in Sharkee, the fighter; N, as in Knickers; another N, as in pneumonia and Y, as in the state of Wyoming."
"O.K., Mr. Benny. Do you like broadcasting?"
"Do I like broadcasting? I like it very much. You can't hear the audience hiss.
"But where were you born?"
"I tell you son, there's nothing like fresh air and spinach to tone up your rehearsals."
"Where did you say you were born?"
"This fellow Roosevelt is certainly doing a grand job."
"Where were you born?"
"I don't think the country is going Red."
"Where were you born?"
"I think beer is here to stay."
"Do you prefer dark or light?"
"Well, if you are going to keep harping on that subject, I was born in Lake Forest. I had one father and one mother. I spent eight years at college, the University of Illinois (you know, the school that produced Red Grange. Are you listening Uncle Fielding?) and don't ask me if I was a freshman for eight years. It was only two. I didn't attend classes. I was a cook. Then I wanted to become a radio announcer, so I practiced talking to myself, but I never got the job as a few people listened in on every program and talking to yourself does a person no good."
"What's that ? You've got to go to rehearsal Mr. Benny? Well, O.K."
"Yea, so long, Scruggs, remember the name is Benny."
But folks, if any one should ask you, I've lived for years in Waukegan, Ill. and I really did learn to play the violin. But the talking got me and after I had raised a lot of money at a Seamen's benefit I dropped the violin and started talking in earnest.
I did talk my way into and through two editions of Earl Carroll's Vanities, through several Shubert revues and a half dozen motion pictures. Right now I've talked myself hoarse and Mary is trying to tell me that the Free Press didn't want the story at all. It was an Oklahoma paper.
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