Ken Carpenter had two long-time associations in radio. One was with Bing Crosby, apparently starting when Bing hosted the Kraft Music Hall on NBC in January 1936, and continuing through various shows and networks, carrying on into the early 1960s in a recorded show with Bing and Rosemary Clooney playing records in between heavily-scripted banter.
The other was with Kraft itself. He continued on the Music Hall after Bing left, and other programmes sponsored by the cheese company, including The Great Gildersleeve and a TV show with Milton Berle. He announced regularly on other shows, among them Command Performance, the Edgar Bergan/Charlie McCarthy show for Chase and Sanborn, the Life of Riley and, in the 1950s, The Halls of Ivy and Lux Radio Theatre, just to name a few. And there had been the Packard Show with Fred Astaire and Jimmy Fidler's on-air gossip column for Tangee and Grace Moore's programme for Vick's, all in 1936, and replacing Don Wilson in all of them. Carpenter was, more or less, Wilson’s protégé.
The June 28, 1930 edition of Inside Facts of Stage and Screen announced:
NEW ANNOUNCER
Kenneth Carpenter has been added to the announcing staff of KFI-KECA here. The new announcer at the Anthony stations is married and is 29 years old.
Carpenter was assigned on Oct. 21, 1930 to The Violet Ray Music Box, airing 8 to 8:30 on Tuesday nights on KFI for General Petroleum. The same publication gave the opinion over two issues:
Tinkling music box melodies faded in, Kenneth Carpenter orating two minute plug for gasoline and oil. This boy has a voice that should sell anything.
Again, let us mention the announcer, Kenneth Carpenter. The lad is good, with a friendly, pleasant voice, well modulated and using the proper inflection. This is very rare amongst the fraternity of announcers!
Carpenter had been hired at KFI by Wilson. They both ended up announcing football on NBC’s West Coast network. The Oakland Post-Enquirer of Sept. 23, 1931 squibbed:
The St. Mary’s-U. S. C. game will be handled over KGO by Don Wilson, who made such a hash of the Pageant of Jewels, and Ken Carpenter.
His first Rose Bowl was 1934, sharing play-by-play with Don Thompson. Wilson had been hired by NBC to do sports back east. Of course, he ended up with a 30-plus year career with Jack Benny. In fact, an uncredited Carpenter opened the Benny show on March 23, 1937, as the plot had Wilson in Chicago, so an announcer was needed to throw to the midwest city.
Radio Mirror, in its September 1938 issue, contained a nice profile of Carpenter. We won’t reprint the full article, but will cut out a chunk of career highlights for you, along with the story of Carpenter and the NBC chimes on the hour-long Kraft Music Hall. His ad-lib was a stroke of genius. Radio writers speculated for weeks whether Carpenter would sound them at the half-hour station break.
[Carpenter] might still be knocking on office doors in search of employment — though I seriously doubt it — if his quest hadn't led him to KFI, then an independent radio station in Los Angeles. Since the only qualification he could advance for a radio job was a checkered business past embracing life insurance peddling, iron foundry puddling, commercial photography and the Chicago department store stint, Kenneth Carpenter spent most of his time waiting in the reception room at KFI. He was so tired hotfooting it along the pavement, he just decided to sit and wait. He did that for three weeks at KFI. Then, says Ken, "Finally Don Wilson had to hire me to get rid of me!"
DON, who "sells the stuff" for Jack Benny these days, was chief announcer at the old KFI. Ken doesn't recommend the sit-down system for ambitious young would-be announcers, though. He realizes that Don might have just given him the bum's rush or called a cop.
KFI put him to work broadcasting sports for the Coast networks. He airported track meets, crew races, baseball games and football. He got to be a crack spieler on gridiron goings-on and graduated to the top gridiron event in the nation — the Rose Bowl Game. Ken has four Rose Bowl games under his announcing belt by now, but his first Bowl job lingers longest and most painfully in his memory, which is only natural considering what befell.
It was along in the middle of the third quarter when the stands were on their feet yelling themselves hoarse. One team was about to score close to the sidelines, and the quarterback probably thought Ken Carpenter looked like a weak left end. At any rate, he called the play and several tons of tackles, guards and assorted backs charged down on Ken and his mike. When he woke up, there were cleat marks all over his fair white body and a lot of "dead air" on his particular broadcast. His reputation as well as one of his knees was pretty badly twisted.
It has been like that, it seems, all along with Ken Carpenter. Things pick on him to happen. That's why he timidly asserts today that he has come up the hard way.
There was the time he set up his traveling mike in a downtown jam to report an Elks Parade. As the colors went by the patriotic fervor of the crowd shoved Ken up against a plate glass window and then shot him through into a snappy department store display. The only indications the station had that Ken was on the job were loud crashes of falling glass and some muffled yowls.
He covered a championship baseball series, and a hasty batter slung his bat aside after a hit. Who do you think stopped it with his solar plexus and an "oof!" over the air? That's right — Carpenter. He put on a special air stunt from an orange grove and in the middle a tree decided to unload its fruit on Ken's uncovered top. Once, during a Navy Day review, Ken attempted to hop from one destroyer to another with his talk-box and misjudged the distance. He hung over the deep by a snag in his very best pants until the boys in blue rallied to the rescue.
"So," Ken declared, "you can readily see that the mere fact I am still hanging around and drawing a pay check is some sort of small miracle!"
Of course, Ken Carpenter does much more than just hang around the NBC studio in Hollywood. In fact, he is one of their very ace announcers and always as busy as a bookie on Derby Day. If you're a confirmed dial twister you'll hear his dulcet and persuasive tones over the Marion Talley Ry-Krisp hour on Sundays, as well as the Sunday One Man's Family show and the Wednesday one, too. He announces the Gilmore Circus (Pacific Coast Chain) on Fridays, still does very special events, makes recordings, and in his spare time he comes at you via the movies in Paramount's "Unusual Occupations" short subjects.
But Bing Crosby's battery of station-break bells on the Kraft Music Hall has really sounded out the Carpenter air click in a big way. That started as a rib, and like Topsy, "just growed," like this:
One day at rehearsals Chester Morris, the movie star guest that week, said the station gongs had always intrigued him. Who rang them, Chester wanted to know, what did they look like, how did they work?
"Why," replied Bing, shuffling his script sheets, "have you never heard of Kensington Carpenter — Carpenter the little Father of all the Chimes? Go ahead, Ken, ring 'em for the lad."
But Ken was busy penciling up his plugs and the chimes weren't handy. "Bing," he replied, "I'm just not in the mood!"
"What!" bellowed Bing, in mock severity, "This is a horrible contretemps, Carpenter, a deplorable contretemps!" 'Contretemps' is one of Bing's favorite words, and he rolls it out in a nasal snore more French than the French.
IT went on from there, with Bing exhorting Ken to give with his art and Ken feigning a temperamental indisposition— and all the time a secretary was taking the gag down in shorthand.
Now, it is practically a rule on the Kraft show that all spontaneous gags and impromptu by-play during rehearsals that get a laugh out of the company, go into the finished script. "Off the elbow" stuff, as radio people call it, makes a show sound relaxed — and that is just what Bing's Music Hall show wants above everything else.
Moreover, all guest stars on the Kraft hour are taken aside by the producer and urged to "throw curves" during the show at Bing and Bob — and now, of course, Carpenter — as much as possible. If the surprise "curves" are clever enough to get any one of the three at a loss for a snappy comeback — so much the better.
So that night Ken Carpenter's "temperament" about his station-break chime virtuosity went out on the air. The next Thursday, too, and the next and the next, until it had snowballed into a definite part of the show. Bing carried on his professorial severity and Ken kept up the callow, striving youth pose. They've tried to drop it several times, but somehow it seems to get better each week — and now they can't!
At any rate, whether he likes it or not, Kenneth Lee Carpenter now finds himself a radio comedian. The other day, Lenox B. Lohr, President of the National Broadcasting Company, sent him a set of chromium-plated chimes for his very own, as a sort of official recognition of the fact.
Now they've got him doing all sorts of things — even singing songs. "Which," mused Ken to me, "is a little strange, considering this fact: When I was in college my greatest ambition was to be a singer. It was a very small college and the glee club had fifty members. But my voice was so terrible they kicked me off the glee club the first day. And now I'm warbling from coast to coast! Amazing, this radio!"
Carpenter lost a TV job in 1955, but it wasn’t quite his fault. Among his duties on the Halls of Ivy television show was to warm up the audience. The San Francisco Call-Bulletin of Apr. 19 reported Carpenter was unable to get to the studios at Columbia Square, so a page boy and part-time copywriter named Fred Grimes told Colman he could do it. He did. Next thing, Grimes had the job full-time. (Carpenter told historian and radio man Chuck Schaden he didn’t really like doing it anyway).
As network radio petered out in the first few years of the 1960s, so did Carpenter’s career. Appearances were rare. He made one with Jack Benny, announcing Premiere At The Pavilion, a 1965 KTTV charity special where Benny played a concerto. And he continued his activities with AFTRA and Pacific Pioneer Broadcasters.
Carpenter joked about the situation to Jack Smalley of the Ventura County Star. In a column on June 16, 1969, Smalley wrote:
When asked Ken Carpenter what he was doing now.
“Our grandchildren can’t figure out what I do, either,” said Ken. “They don’t understand broadcasting work, and they wonder what sort of job I have.
“One day we bought a whole flat of boxed strawberries and stopped off at their house. Our grandson came to the door. He looked at the strawberries and a light dawned. “Now I know what you do, grandpa!” he yelled. “You sell strawberries.”
The days of selling Velveeta for Der Bingle had long ended.
