Jack Benny's Comedy and Violin

Perhaps it was the vaudevillian in him, but Jack Benny always liked being on stage.

Yes, there was an audience in front of him in the radio days, but he went city-to-city with a company in the 1930s, did the same thing during the war, performed at the Palladium in London, appeared in Vegas in the ‘50s and then began to perform concerts all over North America until his death in 1974.

One of his stops in 1965 was at Harrah’s in Lake Tahoe. The usual chat with the media took place. By this time, it must have been tough finding original questions to ask. Jack was moody and could get dismissive with reporters who asked him trite things like “Are you really cheap?” An entertainment writer for the Reno Evening Gazette put together this story for the Aug. 7 edition.

Benny Describes the 'Benny' Character
Aphorisms are usually hokum or are contradicted by other aphorisms. But sometimes one finds the mark, as "You're only as old as you feel" does in the case of Jack Benny.
"You know I'm past 70," Benny mused, "but I'm darned if I feel like a man that age. As a matter of fact, I feel better now than I did when I really was 39."
Benny was relaxing in his Harrah's Tahoe South Shore Room dressing room, his hands poking out of a shantung robe to busily work on a between-shows snack of pancakes and milk.
"Things were hectic in the old days," Benny said between bites, his famed blue eyes gaining in sparkle. "Every show seemed so important. Now, I take things in my stride." Then he smiled and added, "After all, at my age, where am I gonna go?"
The famed comedian is starring in Harrah's through Aug. 22 with singer, Wayne Newton, and dancers, Brascia and Tybee.

Resting in his dressing room, Benny fails on all counts as a Benny has helped form many temperamental star.
He's a gracious man, slightly more serious in demeanor off-stage than on, totally lacking in the mock pomposity he has indulged in for years in the entertainment world. Speaking with him is like speaking with someone you've known for decades. And you do speak with him. He isn't out to "prove" anything to anyone. Benny has the ease and humility of a man who knows himself well.
Of course, the unmistakable voice, the innocent blue eyes, the casual gestures are the same backstage or on.
"I stay young I suppose because I just can't stop working,” he said. "This is a youthful business, and I have young people on my tv shows and on-stage here, like Wayne (Newton), a fine young man and great talent," Benny said.
"Retire? I honestly don't think I ever will, though I would like to devote a whole season to giving concerts. I dearly love giving concerts.”
Benny has helped for many symphony orchestras and kept others financially afloat by taking part in fund-raising appearances in all parts of the country.
"The whole thing is satire on the concert musician," Benny, a serious musician and violinist in his own right, said. "I come out in white tie and tails and everything deteriorates from there.
"Of course, I don't charge a fee for the appearances, only my traveling expenses. It's my hobby and the thing I get the biggest kick out of."
The comedian practices playing violin to the tune of two hours a day. "Sometimes here at Harrah's, I get together with some of the boys in Leighton Noble's band and we have impromptu musicales down in the band room." Finishing his pancakes, Benny leaned back in a soft, overstuffed chair and spoke of comedy.
"Most of the jokes flow out of the characters themselves," he said. "Like on a radio show a long time ago, we did a few gags about my being stingy. It seemed to go over, so we did more the next week. And that's the way a character evolves."
Other jokes come from "real life," Benny said.
"There's a story I tell about my great friend, George Burns. In the story, I'm waiting for George in my hotel room, standing on one foot, stark naked, with a book balanced on my head, a glass of water in one hand and a rose in the other," he recounted. "As I tell it in show, George suspected something and sent the maid in ahead of him!
"Actually, the joke really happened, except that George wasn't expecting anything and it was a bellhop who came into the room first. You have to embellish a little, he said.
And what of the radio-tv-stage character, "Jack Benny?" Has the creator ever grown weary of his creation?
Benny thought for a moment, then shook his head, "No," he said, "I don't think so. The 'Jack Benny' character has lot of facets. It includes stinginess, vanity, all the human frailties. No, I think I like ‘Jack Benny.’

What was the show like? Here’s a review from the San Francisco Examiner, Aug. 10.

The Incomparable Jack Benny
By STANLEY EICHELBAUM
No comedian is quite like Jack Benny. There is certainly no one around with his sense of dignified, subtle clowning, or with his ability to play the straight man, by unleashing an outrageous barrage of dry, dead-pan wisecracks, which break up an audience even before it realizes that he intends to be funny.
In his current show Harrah's Club on Lake Tahoe, Benny saunters on stage at a leisurely, rolling gait, looking rather like a nattily-groomed stockbroker. His poise and posture are impeccable. And his timing is no less perfect than Big Ben's.
To an obviously rapt mob of admirers, he comments on his phenomenal youthfulness and then confides that he is finished pretending to be only 39. "I've now reached he declares, with a murderous, baby blue glare. Then, he confides that he, too, has a clan--like Sinatra--but that at his coterie is called Ovaltine a-Go-Go. It consists of Edward Everett Horton, Ed Wynn, Walter Brennan and Spring Byington, who meet regularly for a game of whist. "And whatever money we win pays for our visits to the Mayo Clinic," he explains.
SIXTH SUMMER

Since this is Benny's sixth summer pilgrimage to Harrah's-Tahoe, he has every right to indulge in family matters—to talk about his wife Mary and their recent 38th anniversary. "It can happen," he remarks, with a certain nonchalance, "even in show business. And I wouldn't trade Mary for Elizabeth Taylor, or Richard Burton.”
The quips are relentless, ticked off with supreme aloofness and tempered with that Jack Benny look of righteous indignation, specially when he invokes his celebrated trademark—being the most confirmed cheapskate in public life.
As always, he surrounds himself with proteges—formers who are led to believe that they would be washing dishes, were it not for Benny's helping hand. But they are permitted (even encouraged) to insult their immortal employer, to have the last word in a stabbing exchange of wits.
DANCE TEAM
So when a lithe and attractive dance team, Brascia and Tybee, complete their impressive acrobatic whirls, Benny is ready to make a pass at Miss Tybee, but is outsmarted by Brascia, who happens to be her husband.
Benny then cedes the spotlight to Wayne Newton, a tall, boyish and enterprising pop singer with an exuberant and folksy style that goes directly to the heart of an audience, particularly those who are won over by clean-cut youth and boundless vitality. With the energy of a windmill, he swoops down on such sure-fire old favorites as "Swanee" and "Rockabye My Baby," until the crowd whimpers for more.
'RED ROSES'
And after a bouncing rendition of "Red Roses for a Blue Lady," he throws himself at the first rank of tables, shaking hands at random (with exultations of "God bless you!”). He simply bubbles over with inexhaustible humility. And frankly, his light-up-the-sky charm wore me out.
But if you happen to drive up to Tahoe, you should drop in on Jack Benny and his companions, who also include the Moro-Landis Dancers and Leighton Noble's orchestra. His show is remarkably pleasant and ingratiatingly funny. And he'll be there through August 22nd.

After Tahoe, Jack returned to television. NBC had cancelled his series but signed him to a number of specials every year. And there were always his concerts. The “Jack Benny character” wasn’t far out of view.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre: McGillicuddy

We mentioned yesterday that Hugh Harman Productions made cartoons for the military during the war. Some of them for the U.S. Navy were similar to the Private Snafu cartoons the Warner Bros. studio animated for the Army. In this case, the bumbling marine was named Private McGillicuddy. The animation jumps from pose to pose in places, much like Hanna-Barbera’s first Ruff and Reddy cartoons, except there is some overlap. You can watch five of them below.

The director was possibly George Gordon, who was mentioned in the trades as directing health and sanitation films for the Navy. The studio’s production designer at the time was Bruce Bushman. The music is likely by Clarence Wheeler, who was signed by Harman in August 1944. I shouldn’t have to tell you who supplies the voices on these. The Hollywood Reporter of May 3, 1945 claimed Jack Benny okayed his hiring after reading the script, which is odd as he was not under exclusive contract to Benny. Then, again, it was claimed for years he was allergic to carrots, which wasn’t true either. Publicity is publicity,



Late note: Devon Baxter says Harman was interviewed about these. Gordon directed and Cal Howard provided stories.

The English Loved His Drawling Legs

Jack Benny and his writers never wasted a lot of potential material. They managed to wring laughs out of all kinds of things.

One was Jack’s sojourns to the Palladium in London. Afterwards, listeners to his radio show would hear gags about how Jack ridiculously puffed up opinions about his performances. The fact was the English enjoyed Jack as much as American audiences.

He set sail for England after the end of the 1947-48 season, the first time he had appeared there since 1931. The United Press reported he got a ten-minute ovation from a capacity audience on opening night. Beverly Baxter reviewed it for the Evening Standard of July 23, 1948 and took a nationalistic slight at something rather innocuous.

MISSING FROM HOME --the star turns of ENGLAND
On Monday of this week Mr. Jack Benny, of the U.S.A., arrived at the Palladium with his radio colleagues, Mr. Phil Harris, Miss Mary Livingstone and Miss Marilyn Maxwell.
A great crowd assembled to give them welcome, and Mr. Val Parnell was able to congratulate himself again on the great success of his star-spangled season.
Mr. Benny, with his drawling legs, his wistful imperturbability expression, and his pleasant voice, is a considerable artist. Anyone who can reduce the vast spaces of the Palladium to the intimacy of a morning room must be taken seriously. Nor was he content merely to reproduce the personal badinage which a corps of script writers supply for his weekly radio programmes.
It is true we heard about his meanness, and his age, as well as his low opinion of Mr. Fred Allen—all pleasant reminders of his war-time programmes—but he did try to brings us into the picture. I liked particularly his explanation of why he had left Claridges and gone to the Savoy: ”They're so stuffy at Claridges that you've got to be shaved before you can go into the barber shop.”
BRAVO, BENNY
WHEN he asked Miss Livingstone, who, as all Western Civilisation knows, is Mrs. Benny, to sing a kissing duet with Mr. Harris we had a glimpse of his powers as a mime. Utterly effortless, and with the very minimum of movement and expression, he conveyed what might be described as the commercial torment of a producer who has placed his wife in another man's arms. Let there be no mistake about it. The Big Shot in the Benny Show is Jack Benny.
Nevertheless Mr. Harris is a notable American import. He is one of those big, nimble-footed men with enough vitality for a battalion, and possessed of a contagious sense of fun. In fact, a perfect foil to his senior partner.
But now I must mention something creditable yet disturbing in connection with Mr. Harris. He had just completed a number when he leaned over the microphone and said words something like these: "Ladies and gentlemen, last week Jack and I discovered a dancing team of two English boys. We think they're fine and I hope you will think so too. So let's give a big hand to these English boys."
IN OUR TEMPLE
THERE was nothing but generosity in the Harris gesture, but it sounded in my ears like a colonial governor introducing a pair of dancing coolies at his garden party. Here in the Palladium, the shrine and temple of British variety, we are asked to give a hand to two of our own countrymen. Not for them our discrimination or criticism, but just—kindness. After all, Mr. Parnell, who is a most able producer, cannot escape his share of the responsibility. Week after week the headliners arrive from New York or Hollywood, thus proclaiming to the listening world that there are no stars in the English skies. Yet it was in this very theatre that the late George Black put British variety on a pinnacle again after it seemed to have gone into a hopeless decline.
It may be that our music hall artists need a New Look. Certainly the Americans have proved that they do not have to descend to “blue jokes” and embarrassing gestures to draw the crowd. The excuse is made that in the provinces a comic cannot survive unless he gives the people vulgarity, and that possible it is not to have one version for the provinces and another for London.
Let the case of Sid Field be the answer. He was a favourite for years in the provinces before Mr. Black discovered him, and he never trafficked in dirt.
I am sorry that, the pleasantries of Benny and company should have me into this serious vein, but periodically, in politics and the arts, there has to be a campaign to revive a pro-British feeling in Britain. Clearly this such a moment. Perhaps Mr. Phil Harris lit a beacon in Oxford-circus.

The Observer of July 25 had these words:

Jack Benny
ON Monday, to the delight of a packed house, the Palladium became a temple for the worship of visiting film stars. Jack Benny, the presiding deity on the stage, disarmed us immediately by remarking that he knew he looked much younger on the screen! Mr Benny is not a red-nosed comedian; he is a charming, polished, comic actor with a deceptively easy style and cumulative effect. He jokes gravely in a deliberate, lazy voice, and—rare feat among funny-men—he listens beautifully. He gives an air of spontaneity to a cunningly-arranged act; this includes Phil Harris, who is so full of himself he quite fills the theatre, and is great fun. But though his associates stand in the limelight, it is Mr. Benny, with deprecating shrug and resigned expression, who always manages to be at the centre of things. He and his company are here for two weeks only; Nota Benny. P.F.

As for the rest of the cast, Dennis Day appears to have taken most of the summer 1948 off; he was heard in the Disney film Melody Time. Don Wilson stayed in Hollywood as his wife headed for Hawaii; she divorced him next year. Eddie Anderson went on the road, including a trip to Canada. We’ll have more on that next weekend.

Matrons Need Radio, Too

Something for everyone could be heard on the air during radio’s Golden Era. That included matronly women who flocked to radio studios for some fun and attention.

In New York, Johnny Olson and Dennis James (on TV) hosted audience participation shows featuring (and aimed at) women approaching their golden years. In Los Angeles, the duty was taken on by Tom Breneman.

His Breakfast in Hollywood show on ABC had enough of a following that a movie was made around it in 1946. The show was ripe for parody as well.

John Crosby gave his assessment in his syndicated column of February 18, 1947 (drawing to the right from the Los Angeles Daily News.

RADIO IN REVIEW
By JOHN CROSBY
The Man Who Tries on Ladies’ Hats
Wolcott Gibbs, a parodist of great skill and no mercy, speaks his mind on the art of parody in the preface of his book, "Season in the Sun." "Successful parody," he says, "demands a great many things from the writer: . . . It should contain a certain amount of real criticism of what the author is saying as well as his manner of saying it . . . Real parodies are not written on grotesque books. For one thing it would be superfluous since they are parodies to begin with, and for another there is no particular entertainment in it for the writer, since intelligent criticism prefers to have something rational to criticize."
That is possibly a sensible criterion of parody for literature but it’s rather too austere for radio. If a program had to be rational before it could be parodied, most of Fred Allen's parodies on radio would be ruled out automatically, In fact, if Allen adhered to any such criterion, his choice of material would be so severely limited he'd have difficulty getting through a thirty-nine-week season.
• • •
Fortunately, Allen has devised his own methods of burlesquing the grotesque, methods which are, at least to me, thoroughly satisfying. Not long ago Allen did a parody on Tom Breneman's "Breakfast in Hollywood" (A. B. C. 11 a. m. E. S. T. Monday through Friday) a program which no one in his right mind could possibly accuse of rationality. It is Mr. Breneman's custom to end this program each day by pinning an orchid on the oldest lady in the audience. In the six years he has been on the air Breneman has dredged up some fairly decrepit specimens of humanity. In parodying this curious monkey business, Mr. Allen went Breneman one better; he produced a lady of such extreme fragility that the weight of the orchid snapped her spine.
I thought it was hilarious, and still do, though it meets none of Mr. Gibbs's standards. As I see it, it’s perfectly possible to parody something that is already inherently ridiculous but only by taking it to outrageous limits. In the case of Breneman's "Breakfast in Hollywood." it requires more imagination than I possess.
This is one radio program which I have carefully side-stepped for months, simply because it defies criticism. It even defies explanation. Over a period of five months I have amassed a great many notes on this program, but they are of little help. They appear to consist almost entirely of the names of ladies of uncertain vintage, many of them from Amarillo, Tex., whose hats Mr. Breneman invariably tried on. I can't conceive of any one being interested in these ladies' names even if I had their telephone numbers, which I haven't.
• • •
There isn't a great deal else to the program. Mr. Breneman simply wanders from table to table at his restaurant in Hollywood, saying 'Hello, who are you?" The lady replies nervously that she is Mrs. Dorothy Z. Brockhurst, of East Orange, N. J. After a little coaxing she may be persuaded to add that this is her first trip to California; she's visiting her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Beulah M. Hodgins, of Santa Barbara, who has two children of indeterminate sex; she wishes it wouldn't rain so much in California—tee hee—and she'd like to say hello to her husband, Richard X. Brockhurst, back in East Orange. Right here Mr. Breneman patches away the microphone. It's against the rules of the Federal Communications Commission to deliver personal messages over the radio. Though the ladies are fully aware they are being naughty, they never stop trying and they frequently succeed.
What entertainment value this has for the listener is one of the dark, inscrutable mysteries of broadcasting. There is no music on the program and the few jokes that are attempted reach a level of idiocy almost beyond mortal comprehension. ("Why is a midget sailor like a short order of mashed potatoes? Because he's just a little gob.")
There's also some nonsense about a wishing ring, but I'm too tired to explain it even if I understood it, and I don't. Mr. Breneman's habit of donning ladies' hats is too well known to require further amplification. However, the screeches of laughter which this spectacle provokes have such an unearthly duality that they deserve some special comment. It is a louder, brassier, more strident, more raucous and infinitely more terrifying noise than the squealing the bobbysoxers used to deliver at Frank Sinatra's broadcasts, An unusually sensitive friend who heard this shrill and terrible din said he detected in it note of horrible panic. The same sort of lunatic laughter, he is convinced will rise to the heavens the day the world comes to an end.

If you are up for it, you can hear the Oct. 2, 1946 show below.

Breneman was 47 when he died in 1948. One of his pall bearers was Jack Benny, whose writers borrowed from Breneman’s show when elderly Martha (played by Gloria Gordon) gave Jack an orchid and told him he had to kiss her.



As for Crosby’s other columns for the week:

Monday, February 17: How radio in that land of Commies, the U.S.S.R., has something in common with radio in that land of freedom, the U.S.
Wednesday, February 19: Radio writing in Hollywood, especially for comedy shows.
Thursday, February 20: Part two on the life of West Coast radio writers.
Friday, February 21: How the radio stars in Hollywood get around.

You can click on them to read them.

A Date With a Date

Jack Benny’s radio show made stops outside of Los Angeles after moving there from New York in the mid-1930s. It even returned to New York, especially if Fred Allen could be booked for mutual visits on the air.

One of Jack’s fairly regular destinations was Palm Springs, starting in 1941 and ending at Christmas time in 1954 during the final radio season. Jack’s writers seemed to find inspiration there, even using it for one of his Christmas shows where he harasses clerk Mel Blanc through indecision. There were jokes about dates, the quickly-changing climate and high prices. And there were several variations on the “Murder at the Racquet Club” story, no doubt pleasing Charlie Farrell, whose club got plenty of free publicity. (One wonders if Farrell’s appearances revived his career, as he filmed My Little Margie on TV in the mid-‘50s).

The Desert Sun published stories about Jack and the show in its Feb. 21 and 28, 1941 issues, and took advantage of the situation by selling “Welcome Jack” ad space to various businesses. Here’s what the paper of the 28th said about the broadcast; this was the final season Jack did a second live broadcast for the West Coast.

Benny Broadcasts Give Palm Springs Fine Publicity and Entertainment; Will Repeat Programs Next Sunday
Jack Benny and his crowd of inimitable entertainers had Palm Springs literally sitting in the aisles last Sunday. What's more he's repeating the process next Sunday. And while stores, newspapers, Chamber of Commerce, hotels and others are fully appreciative of the wonderful publicity and entertainment he is giving the town, they will breathe a collective sigh of relief when it's all over. This ticket demand, all concede, has been too, too tough.
Next Sunday’s national broadcasts will take place, as did last Sunday’s, at the Plaza Theatre at 4 p. m. and 8:30 p. m. It is anticipated that Ed Beloin and Bill Morrow, Benny’s writers, again will devote a good part of the script to Palm Springs. Certainly Palm Springs got its full share of notice last Sunday. Jello may have been paying for the program, but Palm Springs got most of the attention.
Nothing Like It Before
This village has never witnessed anything like the Benny broadcasts. Accustomed to celebrities of every kind and supposedly blase, it went into a dither about Benny. And the comedian did well by the town. So great was the demand to see the broadcasts that the theatre was jammed half an hour before each broadcast. People were even sitting in the aisles.
For the half hour before actual broadcast, Benny wise-cracked, smoked his cigar, strolled up the aisles. Phil Harris and his orchestra helped out in the impromptu entertainment. The actual broadcasts were perfect half hours of comedy and music. Denny Day’s singing entitles him to his top ranking as a singer of popular songs. Don Wilson, Mary Livingstone, Phil Harris, Rochester and the rest all provided superb entertainment.

Columnist Roy Medby of The Desert Sun pronounced the following in the same issue:

JUST TO AVOID being accused of taking advantage of defenseless readers we are announcing here and now that we are going to say a little something about Benny. You know, Jack Benny. So, if you’ve heard enough about the guy, better check out right here.
* * *
WE WISH we would follow our impulse to write about things, such as the broadcast, right after they happen. We are all stirred up then and bubbling over with pretty words. But, as usual, we’ve waited a few days. The warm enthusiasm is still there, but we’ve lost the fancy words. They were only two-bitters anyhow, so you haven’t missed anything. But to get back to Benny. What a show-man that guy is!
* * *
PERHAPS WE ARE a little naive in our pleasures and enthusiasms. But we will say forthrightly and without equivocation that we enjoyed that Benny show about as much as anything in the way of entertainment that we have ever come across. And we cannot ever remember any instances in which Palm Springs got even remotely so much good publicity, whether it paid for it or not.
* * *
WE FIGURE THAT any guy who likes this village well enough to hand it publicity worth twenty thousand bucks, at a conservative estimate, can come around and play in our yard any time. We figure too, that when he does the thing twice in order not to disappoint a lot of people who couldn’t get into the first broadcasts, he ought to have at least a vote of thanks.
* * *
AND AS A LAST little word, just to you personally, Mr. Benny, when you get around to passing out permanent ducats or something, to all of your broadcasts, don’t forget to put our name down good and heavy. You have long had our vote for the best and cleanest entertainment in radio.

There were some pretty enjoyable shows from Palm Springs. And a couple that were disjointed. The broadcast of Apr. 11, 1948 not only suffered a drop out that was filled with studio music, but ran so long that a scene with Paul Lukas was cut short because of time. The following week, Sam Goldwyn and Jack broke each other up, and then Goldwyn unexpectedly changed a line, getting laughs from the audience as Jack explained what had happened.

After Mary Livingstone twisted a line from “grease rack” into “grass reek,” Jack berated her the following week on the Dec. 10, 1950 show from Palm Springs, saying there was no such thing. The police chief of the city showed up to prove otherwise to the delight of listeners.

The gang spent part of Dec. 1951, 1953 and 1954 in Palm Springs.

Writer Milt Josefsberg goes into a number of Palm Springs stories in his book, including one about something that happened off the air.

Jack's favorite night spot was Charles Farrell's Racquet Club. One night he drove there alone to have some coffee and talk with a few friends. After a couple of hours he left and started to drive back to his hotel at a leisurely pace. Jack was an extremely careful driver, so as he drove down Indian Avenue and heard a police car's siren and saw the flashing red lights behind him, he was sure that the law was after someone else, not him.
He was wrong. The police car pulled alongside and Jack realized that he was their quarry, so he drove his car into an open parking space, wondering what law he had violated. His wonder turned to fear as one of the two policemen in the black-and-white car jumped out, drew his gun, and sharply ordered him out of his car with his hands up.
When Jack opened his door to exit, the cop got his first clear look at Jack and he gasped in recognition and amazement, "Mr. Benny!"
Jack said, "Y-y-yes. What did I do?"
The policeman carefully put his gun away and said, half-amazed and half-apologetic, "You stole this car." Jack smiled at this and thought it might be some sort of practical joke. He told the policeman, "Look, it's mine. I drive a black Cadillac Coupe De Ville." Then he told him the license number. The policeman motioned Jack to the front of the car and pointed to the license plate. It was an entirely different number.
What had happened could only have happened to Jack. Another man driving a car that was identical in make, year, model, and color had parked alongside of Jack at The Racquet Club. Jack came out, walked to where his car was parked, got in, put the key in the ignition, and it fit perfectly. However, when the other man came out, he got into Jack's car, which was an exact duplicate of his, but for some reason his key didn't fit Jack's ignition. He phoned the police, and they spotted Jack a few seconds later.
Jack then drove back to The Racquet Club with the police, and they told the worried victim that they had apprehended the car thief. Then Jack came in and the man's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He kept saying, "They'll never believe this, they'll never believe this."
Jack laughed and said, "They will because I'll give you an autographed picture which says 'To the man whose car I stole.' You won't even have to pay me for the picture if you'll drop the charges."

Not only did Jack broadcast from Palm Springs, he and his writers came up with set-up shows on both radio and TV with the plot revolving around him on his way to the city.

Carnegie Hall in Bloom

Jack Benny’s radio show began in New York, but when the film capital beckoned, he packed up and moved to Los Angeles. He and his cast made periodic returns to city—for personal appearances, war-time morale-boosting shows for the military, and in the early days of TV when network shows came out of Big Town (there was also the jewellery smuggling trial, but we’ll skip that).

In January 1943, Jack was in the east for several reasons. Wherever he went, reporters would follow.

Billboard assigned someone to a rather large news conference to push a charity event. Jack never failed to give reporters some kind of amusing angle to put in their stories. This one appeared on January 16th.

Benny Ad Lib Session Launches Drive
NEW YORK, Jan. 9.—If there were any doubts left in the trade as to whether or not Jack Benny could show his face in public without a script, they were dispelled Wednesday (6) when Benny treated upwards of 500 cohorts, hangers-on and lunch time expendables to an ad lib session which marked the opening gun of the drive of the amusement division of the Federation of Jewish Charities.
Benny, guests of honor at the two-buck-a-head feed at the Hotel Astor, threw plenty of good-natured but well-aimed needles at Paramount (Barney Balaban is chairman of the drive), and there were enough Para big shots on the dias [sic] to cringe with laughter.
Louis Nizer, Paramount attorney and banquet orator, in introducing Benny with the eloquence these affairs always seem to bring out, cited the comedian's contribution to the morale of the armed forces and even quoted Sigmund Freud on humor and the will to carry on.
Benny, however, said that even Freud couldn't ask him to be funny after signing a donation pledge. There isn't a worthier cause, said Benny, but he suspected that Balaban, in his letter asking him to appear, addressed him as "Dear Jake," so that "If I didn't appear it would make me feel as tho I were turning down a relative."
One of the reasons for Benny's coming to New York, in addition to appearing at eastern army camps, is to arrange a deal for him to produce his own pictures. Said he's working on a deal with United Artists now to "write, produce, direct, finance and blow my brains out." Paramount came in for a bit of heckling in his reasons for switching to Warners. Not only, he related, did he get tired of trying to steal his pictures from Rochester, but the straw that broke his back was that his next picture was to be The Life of Booker T. Washington. Said that under his first independent schedule he hoped to star Bob Hope and Fred Allen in The Road to Grossingers.
Only other speakers were Judge Samuel Proskauer and Davis Bernstein, Loew executive. Advice from the judge was to give plenty this year and deduct it from income taxes. Bernstein said that naval officers at Lakehurst Air Station, where Benny made an appearance, told him that nothing done so far has built up the morale and efficiency of the men stationed there as much as Benny's visit.
Benny, in a more serious vein, told the gathering that he was really honored to have this clambake tossed for him, because it's the first testimonial dinner in New York where he was the guest of honor. Back in the old days, he related, he was always toastmaster at the Friars, but couldn't get the top spot because the two people who had the guest of honor racket tied up were J. C. Flippen and Doc Michel.

There was a bit of inconvenience for the Benny gang during one military stop. The Hollywood Reporter told readers on Jan. 12th:

Jack Benny Certain Sherman Was Right
Rigors of war-time traveling for theatrical troupes were impressed upon Jack Benny and his troupe on their present tour of eastern Army camps. Arriving in Bangor, Me., recently in sub-zero weather, Benny's gang could find no red caps or taxicabs at the depot, so the company of 39 carried their luggage for six blocks to a hotel.
They ran the gauntlet of autograph seekers, who clamored for the frozen-fingered Benny to sign his name, but none offered to carry his bags. Next day they rehearsed in a cold theatre because of the fuel oil shortage, and that night did three shows to accommodate all the men at Dow Air Field.
Returning to Boston the following day, the blue-nosed performers rode all day in an unheated coach, with no dining car attached. They missed lunch and didn't have dinner until after 11, when their show at the Boston Navy Yard was over. They left Boston at 1 a. m. that night, arriving in New York in the cold dawn.
The Benny troupe has scheduled future shows at the Maritime Service Training Station at Sheepshead Bay, New York; Camp Lee, Virginia; Fort Mead, Maryland; Quantico, Virginia; Norfolk Navy Yard, and then around Toronto, Chicago, Great Lakes and St. Joseph, Mo. Transportation expenses of the troupe are being paid personally by Benny.

There was another reason for Benny to surface in New York City in January 1943. It found its way into the plot of one of his radio shows. The New York Times of January 14th had this story:

JACK BENNY SET FOR VIOLIN DEBUT
Comedian Will Invade Carnegie Hall at Concert on Sunday to Help Paralysis Fund
TO PLAY 'LOVE IN BLOOM'
Oscar Levant Will Be the Piano Accompanist in Super-Special Arrangement of Favorite
Jack Benny's prowess as a violinist will undergo its most severe public test on Sunday evening, when he invades New York's shrine of classical music, Carnegie Hall. This was announced yesterday by Basil O'Connor, president of the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, under whose sponsorship Mr. Benny's performance will be held.
The occasion for his appearance is a concert for the benefit of victims of infantile paralysis, in which Metropolitan Opera and concert stars will participate. The other artists will be Marjorie Lawrence, who recently recovered from paralysis; Gladys Swarthout, Jarmila Novotna, Jan Peerce, Ezio Pinza and John Charles Thomas of the Metropolitan Opera; Josef and Rozina Lhevinne and Oscar Levant, pianists, and Isaac Stern, violinist. Deems Taylor will be master of ceremonies.
The first announcement that Mr. Benny would "do his stuff" came several days ago. But when the foundation's publicity department sent out a release giving the news there was an unexpected reaction from some of the recipients. Three of them telephoned excitedly demanding explanations and accusing the organization of pulling their legs.
E. A. Powers, campaign director for Greater New York, realized the seriousness of the situation. He told all and sundry to come to his office yesterday afternoon and they would see for themselves that it was no joke.
Skeptical, reporters turned up. So did Jack Benny. And Oscar Levant, too. There was no kidding. And each bought—and paid for—five tickets. Photographers took pictures to prove that to the world, too.
But, you may ask, why was Oscar Levant there ? The answer is Simple. He will be Mr. Benny's accompanist.
The press was told that the performance will be the comedian's "much discussed, long awaited debut as a concert violinist." But no one need take that too seriously. Jack says it will be both serious and funny.
What is he going to play? "Love in Bloom," of course. Persons close to Fred Allen say he does not dare try anything else. Anyway, this time it will be a super-special arrangement for piano and violin.

Ben Gross of the Daily News Ben Gross didn’t review the concert, but he waxed about the Benny radio broadcast in his column of Jan. 18th:

The Jack Benny broadcast last evening (WEAF-7) abounded in laughter again. Oscar Levant proved an amusing guest star, even if the burlesque on "Information Please" was not so funny as it might have been. A new comic to radio, a funster named Besser, made his bow in a wacky stooge role. His rather effeminate spoof was a veritable riot with the studio audience. Being present at the broadcast, I naturally wondered how he sounded over the loudspeaker. On returning to the office, my assistant, Bill Levinson, remarked: "That fellow Besser was very funny, but not quite the howl over on the air that he seemed to the visible audience." Benny's easy going, casual technique improves with the years, and, as for Dennis Day, the singer, he, too, is becoming more and more of an outstanding comedy attraction. P.S.— All of the aforegoing was but the prelude to the real wow of the evening, Jack's appearance as a violin soloist at a benefit show in Carnegie Hall.

Three thousand packed Carnegie Hall. The Times story on the 18th about the concert mentioned “sporadic clashings of a cymbal” during the Benny/Levant performance. But we’ll leave the final word to Jack’s “foe” as reported by Ed Sullivan in the Daily News on Jan. 20th:

After Jack Benny tied up the Carnegie Hall show in a knot, with Oscar Levant at the piano, Fred Allen sneered to Alfred Hitchcock: “First time a violinist combined his debut with his farewell performance.”

Allen, of course, was joshing. And years after his death in 1956, Jack was still on stage with his violin, raising millions of dollars for various causes. They were stopped only by Benny’s passing in late 1974.

Indestructible Benny

There may not have been a comedian who was analysed so much during his time as Jack Benny.

Over the years, we’ve posted a number of articles from columnists explaining the appeal of Benny and his show. Jack talked about it himself at the time as well.

This article is from Leon Gutterman of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. What may be interesting is a great deal of credit was given to his irregular supporting cast. Don Wilson, Dennis Day, Phil Harris and Mary Livingstone were the only people to be mentioned at the start of each radio show. Anyone else got credit for their performances only on rare occasion. An exception might have been Mel Blanc, whose name Jack mentioned as the show was unfolding on the air. Unlike other radio shows, you wouldn’t hear “Appearing tonight were…” though credits were given on the Benny television programmes.

The writer got Schlepperman’s catch-phrase wrong, but his column otherwise sums up the Jack Benny show that people remember today.

It was published Oct. 13, 1950.

OUR FILM FOLK
Why Jack Benny Is the Indestructible Comedian
Jack Benny has returned to the nation's air waves for the 19th season of his comedy career in radio. And he has come back, as always, in his familiar role of the balding, penny-pinching patsy, but his CBS program as in the past, will be replete during the coming year with new riotous laugh skits, new characterizations, new guest surprises. At least that's what Jack tells me.
This indestructible quality of the great wit's character creation and a show format flexible enough for a perennial infusion of fresh idea material and talent point to the secret of his enduring and inimitable success. As one newspaper editor once wrote: "Benny hasn't, as is so persistently rumored, been doing the same thing for 18 years. He wouldn't have lasted that long if he had."
Comedy situations in a Benny program season had, year after year, been marked by freshness and originality. New characterizations, his own and those of an odd assortment of fellow actors and actresses, have paraded across; the script in endless procession. His guests, too, have been spectacularly impressive, as witness the case of the Ronald Colmans, who appeared 16 times on the show.
But the program personalities, including the whimsical portrayals of regular cast members, are probably the most memorable highlights of the Benny saga. Among those who turned up last season was Frank Fontaine, a new comedian, playing a mentally retarded sweepstakes winner named John L. P. Sivony [sic]. Mel Blanc, a regular, (the voice of Bugs Bunny) did a week-by-week impersonation of Al Jolson. Jack himself added another facet to his characterization, that of the naive treasurer of the Beverly Hills Beavers, a boy's club.
Once, there was an ostrich in the script, and even a polar bear named Carmichael. Jack kept Carmichael in the cellar and Rochester was his keeper. At the time, the husky-voiced valet was in an endless search for a gas man to do some repairs. The versatile Mel Blanc played Carmichael. Blanc now is the voice of the Benny parrot, which keeps Rochester from delivering soliloquies while doing the household chores. Its screams drive him to distraction. Blanc is also Benny's French violin teacher. He is the coughing, sputtering voice of the rattletrap Maxwell auto as it tunes up, and he doubles as well as the rhythm-tongued train announcer calling out Azusa, Cucamonga and other weirdly-named stations.
Buck Benny Rides Again
Who doesn't remember the famous Buck Benny of the long-running "Buck Benny Rides Again" sequence? Andy Devine, whose entrance line was "Hiya, Buck" was the chief stooge of this comedy turn. The skit ceased with the release of the Paramount film "Buck Benny Rides Again." in which Jack and most his fibbers appeared.
Mr. Billingsley was a quaint character dreamed up and played by Ed Beloin, a former Benny writer. A subnormal, self-appointed house guest, Mr. Billingsley consistently made wry comments at the wrong time in a dry voice. Beloin, never an actor, always had Benny worried that he'd miss his cues or fluff his lines.
Another witty specimen knocked on the Benny door anouncing [sic] "A telegram for Mr. Benny." The role was played by Harry Baldwin, Benny's secretary, who would glow with Barrymore-like pride at the end of each performance, over his laconic line.
Mr. Kitzel, a current fabrication, is played by Artie Auerbach, former New York newspaper photographer. His "peekle in the meedle with the mustard on top" and his baseball stories are laugh toppers. Mable Flapsaddle and Gertrude Gershift, the Benny telephone opertors [sic], enacted by Sarah Berner [sic] and Bea Benadaret [sic], tie the program in knots with them saucy badgering of the boss.
Schelepperman’s "Howdy Stranger"
Off and on the show have been Sheldon Leonard, Sam Hearn, Frank Nelson and many other stooges. Leonard is the racetrack tout with the soft, patronizing voice. Hearn played Mr. Schlepperman, whose greeting, "Howdy, Stranger," stirred a ripple of chuckles. Nelson is often heard as the haughty floorwalker, the butler or some generally nasty type, with a mocking "Yeahus" when addressed.
Jack's main foils of course, have come in for equally hilarious typing. Tenor Dennis Day is the timid mama's boy who is always asking for his salary, and Phil Harris is ribbed as a lady-killer with a predilection for word-mangling and liquid refreshments. Rochester as the extrovert valet and chauffeur constantly befuddles the harassed Benny. Mary Livingstone, Jack's wife, is the heckling girl friend whom Benny constantly threatens to send back to the hosiery counter at the May Company department store.
Practically every important figure in show business has guested on the Benny funfest, but Fred Allen's visits have been among the most notable. Jack and Fred carried on a feud for years, on their own programs. Every once in a while they crossed over for mutual calls, letting the quips and sparks fly at close range. "If I had my writers here," Jack once exploded, "you wouldn't talk to me like this."
Benny at His Best
For years, the Benny comedy situations have run the gamut of thing that could possibly happen to Jack Benny has been satirized. Last season, for example, he did a takeoff on an actual operation on his nose, and in another skit he roved through the script for several weeks spending his money like a drunken sailor after a can of tomatoes fell on his head and put him out of his mind. It was Benny at his best.
To his sheer delight, the fabulous funnyman has taken the worst beating from his stooges of any comedian in radio history. Everything about him is mercilessly lampooned . . . his thinning hair, his baby blue eyes, his age (39 years), his romantic attractiveness, his Maxwell, his money vault, his thriftiness and his fiddle. A few years ago his writers even dreamed up a contest in which listeners were invited to send in letters of 25 words or less dwelling on the theme "I can't stand Jack Benny because . . ." More than 500,000 letters poured in. Benny revelled in the scheme.
That's why Jack Benny is the indestructible comedian, who never changes himself but keeps his show over fresh with funsters. That's the secret of his 19 years of radio success.

Before Aunt Harriet

I’ve always enjoyed Madge Blake on the Batman TV series. She gave fine performances as the naïve but kindly Aunt Harriet.

Considering the huge impact the show had on kids when it debuted, it’s hard to realise Blake made regular appearances on TV shows before that.

At the time, some of her roles were proudly profiled in local newspapers. Here’s a feature story form the Modesto Bee of May 7, 1961. She had been appearing periodically on The Real McCoys at the time. It explains why she got into acting late in life.

Madge Blake Of The Real McCoys Visits Son In Merced
By Richard Watry
McClatchy Newspapers Service
MERCED, Merced Co. — Madge Blake is a wonderfully warm actress-mother whose theatrical star orbited when she was cast as the delightful Flora MacMichael on the highly popular The Real McCoy's television show witch features the venerable Walter Brennan.
Mrs. Blake has been here on a brief visit with Ted Blake, one of her two teaching sons. Blake is a science instructor at Merced High School. His other brother, Jim, teaches in a Southern California high school. And while in Merced the past few days Mrs. Blake found time to drop in at El Capitan High School to be guest lecturer in Alice Osborn's drama class.
Madge Blake — that is her real name — did not stumble into acting but entered it late, only 12 years ago. The daughter of a Methodist circuit riding minister, she always had a bent for the dramatics.
"But my father was a true hell bent for the Lord type of a man who would tolerate no smoking, lipstick, late hours or dramatics," she said.
However, living alone after her sons went into military service in World War II, Mrs. Blake worked for Cal-Tech in the chemistry division, a post for which "I guess they felt my one year of high school chemistry made me eminently qualified to do the task." Nonetheless she was given a special citation for her tasks in the war effort.
Not readily recognizable was her developing talent in little theater work "which I did to fill the vacant hours".
It was the late Fanny Brice who triggered the countdown for Mrs. Blake's eventual recognition as character star material. She had seen a performance by Mrs. Blake and subsequently was instrumental in landing the latter the role of mother to Spencer Tracy in Adam's Rib.
This was in 1949 and Mrs. Blake credits Katherine Hepburn also with "aiding and abetting my career". Miss Hepburn, also in that film, kept building up Madge Blake's part by tossing her some unauthored dialog which Director George Cuker [sic] left in the script.
Since then Mrs. Blake has done some 50 to 60 films and more than 300 professional shows.
And gilding the lily, so to speak, was her selection to play veteran actor Andy Clyde's sister Flora in The Real McCoys for television. She was just right for the sweet, soft spoken foil to Brennan.
It is a tribute that wherever she goes young and old alike hail her as Flora MacMichael instead of Madge Blake.
Even greater theatrical heights are in sight for her this fall when the Joey Bishop show is scheduled for a weekly run. She already has signed contracts to appear as his mother. And Jack Benny wants Mrs. Blake to join him once again for his summer show in Las Vegas because of her success with the show there last year.
Mrs. Blake has no affectations. She is in real life much like Flora McMichael who sat in this reporter's home until 1 in the morning eating ice cream, munching cookies and dispensing with some warmly amusing bon mots about her love affair with the theater.
She lives alone in Pasadena, her place of residence the past 24 years. In her younger days she lived in the Dinuba and Reedley areas while her father was in the ministry. How does this belated film and television activity affect her?
"Well,” she remarked, "I just love it. I am glad I had smaller roles and a chance to develop into character parts gradually. I love to cook and do some entertaining. And, of course, the pride of my world is not the acting profession but my four delightful grandsons in Southern California.
"I enjoy visiting in Merced and meeting Ted and Millie's friends. And I do love the theater. I just hope I can go on and on and on and I am looking forward to my new series with Joey."

The “new series with Joey” wasn’t as permanent she might have hoped. The series went on, but Blake was dumped after the first season as Bishop tinkered with the sitcom’s situations. Here’s Blake speaking to the Merced Sun-Star of May 12, 1962.

HOME IN MERCED FOR MOTHER’S DAY
Veteran, Twinkling Star in Appearance at Merced High
Madge Blake's large expressive eyes twinkled and a warm, friendly smile flashed across her face as she offered this bit of advice:
"If you want security in your life's work, don't go into show business. Become a dressmaker or a plumber."
Mrs. Blake, known to tele-viewers as the loveable and flustered mother of Joey Bishop on the television comedy show of the same name gave a few hints about show business in a brief talk Friday afternoon before Merced High and El Capitan High Schools drama students.
"Show business isn’t really as glamorous as it appears looking in from the outside," she told the students. "You have to put in many long hours and work awfully hard.
"I know that some days I came home and am so exhausted I wonder if I'll be able to get up the next morning."
Mrs. Blake is in Merced for Mother's Day and is staying with her son, Ted Blake, who is a teacher at Merced High School.
The actress told the students she got into show business at the end of World War II after working at a number of other jobs, including a two year stint at Cal Tech, Pasadena, in experimental chemistry and as a salesclerk in a large well known Southern California department store.
"After the war ended and my two sons came home I became interested in acting and went to the Pasadena Playhouse," Mrs. Blake related. "I just had to learn to act because it seemed like a challenge.
"In the years that followed I learned that much hard work has to go into an acting career and I had many bit parts and good breaks in a number of films.
"I learned, for instance, that in comedy, timing is the important thing. A good scene can go down the drain if an actor isn't aware of the importance of timing."
Mrs. Blake recalled that she played the part of Spencer Tracy's mother in the film Adam's Rib.
"When Spencer learned that I was to play that part, he was considerably annoyed," she continued. "I am younger than him and he felt that it wouldn't work out.
"I told him that in the movie I play the part of a rich woman who has no worries and said that the woman holds her age well and looks young. He seemed satisfied with that and we got along wonderfully."
She also was in the casts of "I Remember Mama" and "The Long, Long Trailer."
"Lucille Ball, one of the stars of "The Long, Long Trailer," told me recently that she saw that film in New York," Mrs. Blake remarked. "She said the scene where I got so mad when the trailer rolled over my garden evoked a lot of laughs.
"I've never been in New York in my life but apparently my shadows rocked the walls of a movie theater there."
She also has been in the production of "The Happiest Millionaire," "Bell Book and Candle," and "Harvey."
Mrs. Blake said that when young persons who aspire to be actors and actresses ask her for advice she tells them this is her recipe for success in show business:
"Develop the hide of a rhinoceros and add a little rubber to your diet so you can bounce back if you get knocked down."
She explained that the new format of the Joey Bishop show next season will probably mean she will appear less in the program.
"Joey plays the part of an entertainer who has his own show," she noted. "This is really what he enjoys doing the most. He's a talented man and is a darling to work with."
Mrs. Blake said she doesn't know what all she will be doing during the next season but imagines she will be working on different programs.
She has had the part of Grandpa's girl friend in "The Real McCoys" and will be seen next week in the "Dr. Kildare" series. After this weekend, Mrs. Blake will return to her home in Hollywood.

In these interviews, Blake comes across as a down-to-earth, rather gentle person. I hope that’s an accurate assessment. I’ve enjoyed her in many different roles over the years. It’s a shame ill health (and a focus on Batgirl and some preposterous villains played by Barbara Rush, Rudy Vallee and Milton Berle) prevented her from doing much on Batman after the second season. She passed away on Feb. 19, 1969 after a heart attack.

Like a Moose Jaw Needs a Hat Rack

Have you heard the one about Jack Benny showing up in a church in Moose Jaw?

No, this isn’t a joke. It actually happened.

Well, we should clarify that it wasn’t Jack himself but his voice.

May 1939 was an unusual month for Jack. It was a month after he was ordered to pay a fine in a jewellery smuggling case and columnists like Jimmy Fidler pointed out the charges had absolutely no effect on Benny’s career. In fact, radio newsman Tom Fizdale reported Jack’s management worked out a pay increase that month to $15,000 a week (and staved off an attempt by General Foods to change his sponsorship from Jell-O to Grape Nuts Flakes).

At the start of the month, he was a batter in a celebrity ball game during the opening of Gilmore Field, the new home of the Hollywood Stars of the Pacific Coast League. His movie Artists and Models Abroad was still in theatres and Man About Town was set to open the following month.

His radio show, of course, was still on the air. But that isn’t what was heard at a United Church (still standing) in Saskatchewan.

Jack made guest shots on a number of radio shows. On May 16, he appeared on the Lifebuoy (Beeee-oh!!) Tuesday Night Party. Here’s what the Regina Leader-Post reported on page one the next day:

Jack Benny In Church
MOOSE JAW, May 17.—Ghosts of departed congregations of a less broad-minded era probably rolled over in their graves Tuesday night, as a musical festival program was in progress at Zion church.
A radio was set up on the stage to bring to the audience a talk to be given by Adjudicator Arthur Benjamin over the CBC. Officials, anxious lest they miss the opening remarks, turned the set on five minutes ahead of time.
They turned into the last hilarious five minutes of a comedy broadcast, with Jack Benny rowing violently with Dick Powell. The audience, momentarily startled, giggled a bit. But nobody moved to turn the radio off.
Set at full volume, the set blared forth wise-cracks and riotous laughter, a blurb that the United States had more bath tubs than any other country in the world.
Then, to cap it all off, wide-mouthed Martha Raye swung into it ditty about “Three Little Fishes” who swam to the dam. It was not festival music. It was rowdy-dowdy swing stuff, and it probably never blared forth in more peculiar surroundings.
The song ran its course with a hot orchestra background. There was no adjudication for Miss Raye's number.

You can hear part of the show below.



There was another unusual Benny appearance during the month, this one in person. In the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s, Jack raised millions of dollars through benefit concerts to save symphony orchestras, their theatres, even their pension plans. Things were a little different in the 1930s. On May 19, 1939, Jack agreed to preside over a charity dinner in Pasadena for poor kids. He brought along announcer Don Wilson and writers Bill Morrow and Ed Beloin to add some shtick.

Here’s the pertinent part from next day’s Pasadena Star-News.

BOYS BENEFIT BY $10-PLATE BANQUET
Funds To Permit 220 To Enjoy Camp
JACK BENNY GIVES $50 DONATION
Radio Star Willing To Come Again
Approximately 220 underprivileged boys will enjoy vacations in the mountains this summer because 550 prominent Pasadena business men paid $10 a plate for their dinners last night in the Huntington Hotel.
Members of the Junior Chamber of Commerce today were jubilant over the success of last night's brilliant [sic] event. General Chairman W. H. Nicholas proudly displayed a $50 check signed by Jack Benny, who after serving as master of ceremonies declared himself completely “sold” on the Junior Chamber of Commerce plan for boys' camps.
"I've had the best time in 20 years, and if you ask me to come again next year, I'll drop everything and come over," he told Leon Kingsley to whom he presented the check. "I'll even bring my own violin."
Benny Humor Pleases
Virtually everyone attending last night's banquet got thrills from Mr. Benny's fine humor, the vaudeville entertainment provided, the "ribs" at the expense of prominent Pasadena officials and the sizzling steaks served as the main course of the dinner that cost $10 per plate.

I suspect one of the jokes at the Pasadena dinner did not include the phrase “like a moose needs a hat rack.” Morrow or Beloin were gone from his writing staff when it was heard on the air for the first time in 1947. Norman Krasna loved it, you know.

There might have been something about the feud with Fred Allen, which would reach another high point by tossing it into a movie in 1940 called Love Thy Neighbor. The photo to the right is also from May 1939 but I can’t find the source. The feud, in a way, continued after Allen’s death in 1956. Jack would reminisce about it to TV talk show audiences and even drag out his impression of Allen ridiculing him.

I’ve Heard That Joke Before

When comedians on radio got tired of jokes, they made jokes about jokes.

Fred Allen, Henry Morgan, even Boston’s Bob and Ray, pointed out radio was obsessed with making fun of Brooklyn or the La Brea Tar Pits. Morgan and the wonderful Arnold Stang had a routine, where Stang urged Morgan to jump on the overused joke bandwagon, saying Fred Allen had one about a pen that writes under water and, by procrastinating, Morgan didn’t have “one damp joke.” Morgan responded with a lovely pun that he did have a joke about a typewriter that wrote under wood.

Syndicated columnist John Crosby went further, making jokes about comedians making jokes about jokes in his missive of Friday, February 14, 1947.

RADIO IN REVIEW
By JOHN CROSBY
The All-American Joke
Peter Lind Hayes, who is developing into a very good comedian indeed, fell to complaining the other day about jokes. There were, he claimed, almost as many jokes about the Governors of Georgia as there are Governors of Georgia. Mr. Hayes, who is one of the brighter luminaries on the Dinah Shore show (C. B. S. 9:30 p. m., E. S. T. Wednesdays), explained that the Georgia Governors had moved to Number Four on the Hit Parade of jokes.
"What's Number One?” inquired Miss Shore.
"The most popular joke of the year was Kilroy was here. Number Two was the fountain pen that writes under water. In the third slot is a new entry which came up very fast."
"Bet I can guess—‘Open the Door, Richard.’ "
"Right," said Mr. Hayes some-what grimly. "Number Four was, of course, the Governors of Georgia. Numbers Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine and Ten were Artie Shaw's marriages. Eleven was President Truman's piano. Number Twelve was the joke about Leo Durocher saving up for a Larainey Day."
"Pete, what about Los Angeles pedestrians?" asked Miss Shore.
"Coming up—got the perfect number for them. Number Thirteen. Yes, Number Thirteen is Los Angeles pedestrians. Number Fourteen is Los Angeles smog, and Number Fifteen is Los Angeles."
Mr. Hayes then offered his version of the All-American Joke, a fool-proof number guaranteed to contain all the guaranteed laugh ingredients. Here it is:
"The other day the Governors of Georgia and the pedestrians of Los Angeles picked up a fountain pen that writes under water and wrote a letter to President Truman asking him to play the piano at Artie Shaw's and Leo Durocher's weddings and signed it Kilroy was here."
• • •
Well, it was a brave try, Mr. Hayes, but I feel vaguely dissatisfied with that All-American Joke. Some of the most brilliant running backs and four or five linesmen of indubitable All-American excellence have been omitted. No All-American team would be complete without a mention of Frank Sinatra. John L. Lewis, the Brooklyn Dodgers, portal-to-portal pay, Jack Benny's stinginess, Esther Williams's bathing suits, James C. Petrillo, Senator Claghorn, Don Wilson's waist line, Bob Hope's yo yo and the housing shortage.
Mr. Hayes's list calls attention to the flagrant favoritism the comedians pay to Los Angeles. President Truman's piano, Kilroy, "Open the Door, Richard," and the fountain pen that writes under water belong to the nation; the Governors of Georgia are the personal property of that state, but all the rest of the jokes have a distinctly local connotation. Hollywood and Vine is virtually the only street intersection in the world that ever gets mentioned on the radio. Hollywood's weather is more widely and unfavorably advertised than the weather any place else and Tommy Manville simply can't compete any longer with the Hollywood marriage and divorce mill. Nobody ever tells any regional jokes about the East, the Mid-West or—apart from the Georgia Governors and Senator Claghorn—the South, Chicago, which in my youth was the most prolific joke factory in the world, is hardly ever mentioned.
Also, it seems to me the joke-smiths have missed a couple of topics entirely. I don't hear all the jokes that are told on the air, Heaven forbid, so maybe I missed a few. Has any one told a joke about Staten Island's threat to secede from New York City, Admiral Byrd's expedition to Antarctica or Toots Shor's expedition to the White House? Any one who can't fashion a joke out of Toots Thor in the White House, to parephrase Mr. Shor, ain't tryin'.

Let’s look at the rest of Crosby’s columns for the week. As a side note, these columns had been banked as Crosby was on his honeymoon in Los Angeles when they were published.

Monday, February 10: Politicians and would-be politicians show up on Information Please. I’ll take Oscar Levant, thank you.
Tuesday, February 11: Jack Benny and Your Hit Parade were sponsored by Lucky Strike, which used a tobacco chant in its opening and closing commercials. Crosby delves into the cigarette spiel. We posted that column several years ago.
Wednesday, February 12: The BBC tries an intellectual programme, drama, poetry, plays and such.
Thursday, February 13: an odds-and-ends column, including Johnny Olson’s audience participation show and newsman Bob Trout on slang.

You can click on the stories to enlarge the copy. Cartoons are by Alan Ferber and Bob Moore of the Daily News in Los Angeles.

A Day With the Family

It’s no surprise Dennis Day came across in real life as a family man.

He had ten children.

Day appeared from obscurity to take over the vocalist’s job on the Jack Benny show in 1939. Nobody on the show was certain Day—that was the name they gave him—would make it. To hedge their bet, they brought on veteran actress Verna Felton to play Dennis’ overbearing mother. Felton was funny, but Benny and his people agreed Day was capable of handling the role without assistance, so Felton’s mother was reduced to occasional appearances.

As it turned out, Day developed a pretty good flair for comedy, both in the context of his quiet and silly character, and when it came to a small group of imitations, which the writers started putting in the show. He did funny versions of Jimmy Durante, the Mad Russian (Bert Gordon as Eddie Cantor’s foil) and Ronald Colman, and some over-the-top accents that were perfect for Benny’s sketches.

All this resulted in Colgate-Peet-Palmolive signing Day for his own radio series. When television came around, he starred in two short-lived series in the 1950s, but started raking in the big money when he headlined in Las Vegas.

Despite this, he seems to have been removed from the glittery world of show business celebrities, no doubt helped by publicity along those lines.

Here’s an example. TV Guide published this two-page profile on June 4, 1954.

Four Days Make One Weak
Dennis’ Children Keep Life Hectic For ‘TV Bachelor’
Brentwood, Cal., is one of those money-sprinkled suburbs whose shopping center is archly referred to as “the village”; whose winding roads bear names like Tigertail and Saltair and whose few remaining unsold lots are priced higher than a kite in an updraft. Being a sub-suburb of suburban Beverly Hills, it is loaded with movie and TV stars on a high turnover basis.
Now, in the film capital, a star’s home is rarely associated with the star himself. It is almost invariably "the old Gloria Swanson place” or “the former Rin Tin Tin manse,” regardless of who might be footing the current utilities bill.
An exception to this rule-of-thumb is the Dennis Day farmhouse, located north of Sunset Boulevard in the outer reaches of Brentwood. Day and his wife, the former Peggy Almquist, bought the place from its builder, who was not a star, thereby assuring its future pedigree as “the old Dennis Day place.”
The pedigree is going to have to wait awhile, however, as Dennis and his wife have remodeled it with a careful Irish eye on future expansion. They are the early settler type and, with four young McNultys all under the age of six, they are both early and settled.
Right here it should be explained that in this woodsy little corner of Brentwood the Days are known as “the McNultys,” Dennis’ real name being Eugene Patrick McNulty. The children, Margaret, 1; Michael, 3; Dennis, Jr., 4, and Patrick, 5, are known strictly as “the McNulty children.”
It’s the end of a perfect Day, you might say, when the kids rush out to meet their particular Mr. McNulty. That workaday character, name of Dennis, disappears, and in his place there’s only “Daddy.”
With four Indians of Irish descent on the premises, Dennis generally finds himself up by 7:00 A.M. whether he likes it or not. Breakfast is a pleasant sort of bedlam—the kind only parents can ever become accustomed to. After that, it’s up to Peggy McNulty to get her husband piled into his car, the two older boys piled off to nursery school and the other kids piled out from underfoot.
On weekdays Dennis generally gets home fairly late, just in time to try to calm the children with a quick story before their bedtime. He and Peggy like a quiet dinner together and spend most evenings watching television. Sunday, however, is family day. Dennis leads the entire brood off to church, after which the four Indians rule the roost and keep their father stepping.
An Irish Stew
A favorite Sunday occupation is a family barbecue, with Dennis himself presiding at the open pit built into the den’s huge brick fireplace. In warmer weather the backyard pool becomes the general meeting place, fairly crawling with McNultys. Dennis has four brothers and a sister, plus enough nieces and nephews to stock a small school. The canyon neighborhood, in fact, is rapidly becoming known as McNulty Gulch.
Aside from the occasional fishing sorties, which are strictly a mother-and-father deal, the McNultys are as tightly knit a family group as Hollywood boasts, and keep pretty much to themselves in their canyon hideout. Dennis keeps a firm hand on the children’s reins, and labors mightily to keep their natural, exuberant tendencies within limits.
Hams Must Age, You Know
Patrick, the oldest boy, already has some of his excess energy siphoned off into show business, having appeared on one of his father’s TV films in the role of Dennis himself as a young boy. Whether or not the others will follow suit is something Dennis is not yet prepared to say.
“They’re too young at the moment,” he says matter-of-factly, “to do anything but get in and out of trouble. But they’re Irish and they’re mine, and it’s quite possible there is a small amount of latent ham in them.”

I’ve always liked Kenny Baker as a vocalist more than Day, though I’m not excited about the kinds of songs both were required to perform, but Day was more talented of the two. While Andy Williams and Perry Como were bigger on television, Al Martino and Johnny Mathis were bigger on the record charts, and rock would be embraced by young people, Day still attracted fans who wanted to see the singer they heard for years on a radio show with a comedian they loved.