Thursday, 8 October 2015

Booplause

A vaudeville audience goes wild over Betty Boop singing That’s My Weakness, Now in Stopping the Show (1932).

There are two cycles animated in the scene. The characters in the background applaud in four drawings. The characters in the foreground applaud in eight drawings, but one drawing is held for a second frame to give a little hitch in the movement. Four doesn’t go evenly into nine, so you’ll notice the difference in the background characters in the second-last and last frames, especially the guys above the horse at the left of the scene.



So here’s cycle animation based on the foreground characters. That means the background cycle isn’t the same as it is in the actual cartoon, but it happens so quickly (the speed is pretty much what it is in the cartoon) you won’t notice.



More from this cartoon tomorrow.

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Cue The Organ

Radio’s serial dramas seemingly had to feature three things—soap commercials, someone with amnesia preyed upon by an evil woman, and an organ.

Organs were extremely useful instruments around radio stations. You could get a variety of sounds of out them, and they were great for dramatic stabs and stings, and triumphant fanfares. Oh, and an organ was cheaper than even a small orchestra. So it was that radio game shows like “Truth or Consequences” utilised an organ as well.

Organs made the transition from radio to television. The organ music that sticks in my mind from the 1960s was the jaunty small Wurlitzer, accompanied by a celeste, on Hugh Downs’ “Concentration.” Some time ago, I was listening to some 1951 transcriptions of the Bob and Ray radio show from NBC and my ear concluded the organ and celeste arrangements sounded just like what I used to hear on “Concentration” (also an NBC show). There was a good reason. The organist on both shows was a gentleman named Paul Taubman.

In the early days of network radio, organists got their own music programmes; Ann Leaf, Lew White and Jesse Crawford were among them. Taubman was one of a number of anonymous organists toiling away on various series, though he did get his own show on WOR in 1950 and received credit on the aforementioned Bob and Ray 15-minuter. He was a music teacher (one of his students was future astronaut John Glenn) who supplemented his income playing instruments at night. He appeared at New York’s Ambassador Theatre in 1932, then moved to Penthouse Club in 1939, which he eventually took over. During the ‘40s, after a stay in the U.S. Army infantry during the War, he started adding network radio work to his portfolio. And he made the jump to television, as we noted about his music accompanying Concentration announcer Bob Clayton reading a list of prizes, or while the camera panned the audience in studio 6-A at Radio City.

One of the reasons I enjoy the transcribed Bob and Ray shows upon their arrival at NBC is Taubman’s trio offers a pleasant little break between the comedy bits. (Prior to arriving in New York, Bob and Ray’s organist and pianist were allotted two musical numbers. The organ at WHDH was a Kilgen, in case you wondered).

Taubman became known enough that a number of newspaper stories were written about him. One thing’s for certain: Taubman treating organ playing for soaps and games very seriously. First up, let’s pass on a syndicated story from July 5, 1957. Long before Jeopardy had canned “think” music (that netted Merv Griffin tons of cash in royalties), Taubman had to come up with his own on the spot.
Taubman Writes Quiz Mood Music
By STEVEN H. SCHEUER

"My greatest compliment," Paul Taubman told me, "was one I got from a friend recently. He asked me what I was doing and when I told him that, among other shows, I was musical director for "Twenty-One," he seemed perplexed. 'Oh,' he said. 'I didn't know there was any music on "Twenty-One."' That proves I've been s success. The music doesn't detract from the show."
In addition to 'Twenty-One," Paul is also musical director for "Tic Tac Dough," "Edge of Night," and "Bride and Groom." He's on the air for 20 programs a week and has an hour and half of rehearsal time for each show. In addition, Paul composes all the music you hear on all the shows. 'Bride and Groom' is a natural for me," he said. "I was schooled as an organist."
You'd think that, with all his TV work, Paul would have enough to do, but the man isn't lazy. He also owns New York's fabulous Penthouse Club. (You guessed it, he started out as club pianist and wound up owning the place) and breeds Doberman pinschers in his spare time.
'Music for Situation'
Though the themes from "Twenty-One" and "Tic Tac Dough" are in the process of being recorded, they don't even scratch the surface of the music required. • "I'm there to compose music for the situation," Paul Taubman explained. "I have no vast shelf of music to draw from. The music must be made to fit the mood, the situation and the comic or dramatic elements. I don't compose music for the individual contestant, but I find I must create 'music to think by,' for those dead spots while the contestants try to find the answers. One of my most important selections is 'music to enter a soundproof booth by.'
"Since I always write more music than we need on any show, I've never yet had to write 'music to stall by," but if I had to, I would. Another important type of number is 'music to get you into and out of a commercial.' After a commercial, you have to bring the audience back to the show without being abrupt, not as easy as it sounds.
"There's also 'money music', with different music for different amounts and very triumphant music for the winners. I could go on, but you get the idea. Without music, a lot of time on quiz shows could be pretty deadly."
I’ve always been a fan of the old production music libraries. Taubman wasn’t. But he knew exactly why they were used on television, as he expressed to the Associated Press in an interview published February 28, 1958. Producers of Westerns, he seemed to think, should be like the big movie studios and hire a composer, arranger, copyist and orchestra and score to the moods of each scene and add the music in post production. Even Poverty Row studios didn’t always do that; they had a stock library of cues. Television was forced to do use the same thing; it didn’t have the luxury of time to create individual scores even if it had the money. So viewers were forced to hear the same Spencer Moore dramatic cues on TV Westerns whose producers bought the fully-orchestrated Capitol Hi-Q library.
Little Live Music on TV Listed Shows
By CHARLES MERCER

NEW YORK (AP)—Did you know that with a few exceptions the only television programs using live music these days are quiz shows and, of course, musical varieties? Do you care?
If you have observed the fact or at least noted the tinny and repetitious quality of some of the canned music heard on television then you'll delight the heart of every musician—and especially of Paul Taubman.
Taubman currently is the musical director of three quiz shows on NBC-TV—"Twenty-One," "Tic Tac Dough" and "Dough Re Mi"—and of the CBS-TV daytime serial, 'Edge of Night."
"The producers of quiz shows realize what an integral part an orchestra plays in creating the mood of a program," he said the other day. "Can you imagine on 'Twenty - One' for example, how deadly that 15-second trek forward of a contestant would be without music?
Fall Flat
"Supposing, after Charles Van Doren won that $129,000, he'd just turned around and walked out without a heraldic fanfare of trumpets. It would have fallen flat.
"It's too bad that the producers of more dramatic shows don't waken up to the beneficial dramatic effects of an orchestra instead of taped music."
"U. S. Steel Hour" is the only regular dramatic show now regularly using live music, says Taubman, and Jack Benny, "a man of great know-how, wouldn't be caught dead using tape on his show." Besides the variety and musical programs, "Wide Wide world" and the Jack Paar show are two that enhance their entertainment value, Taubman believes, by using music that's fresh instead of from a can.
Mood Music
If you're an inveterate television viewer it's true that you hear the same "mood music" repeated again and again within a period of two or three days. Westerns, especially, sometimes seem to draw all their canned music from the same shelf.
It's true, too, that actors, writers, directors and a great variety of technicians have widened the area of their activities as a result of television. But the musician, with rare exceptions, has not benefitted.
Of 38,000 union card-carrying musicians in New York today, only about 200 a week are employed on television, Taubman says. Since radio also has turned to tape as its chief source of music, there are innumerable fine musicians who simply cannot find employment in their chosen field.
"I'm proud of the fact," says Taubman, that I'm able to employ fine musicians who spent years playing under the direction of Arturo Toscanini."
Taubman continued to bash production library music on television. Here he is in an interview published in the Binghamton Press, January 13, 1962. Taubman was making more on TV than probably most of the people who appeared on camera at the time.
Lack of Live Music Deplored
By HAROLD STERN

"The only television shows that seem to appreciate live music are soap operas—they hire one musician each—and game shows, which sometimes employ as many as two musicians. Take away these and the few variety shows, and there's no music on television—certainly no live music."
Those are the thoughts of Paul Taubman who admits to making somewhere in the vicinity of $250,000 a year as a television musical director for 20 shows per week.
Despite his own personal success in and loyalty to the medium, Taubman feels the cause of music and musicians is in a bad way in both radio and television and, what's even worse, isn't getting a fare share of the publicity.
For example, Taubman feels that FCC Chairman Newton Minow did music a disservice by failing- to mention it in declaring television a vast wasteland. He notes that of some 32,000 musicians, only 195 are making a living in the radio and television industry in New York and that many only because of the network flagship stations' contracts with the American Federation of Musicians.
"Everything is sold with music, but music isn't being sold," is one of Paul's favorite themes. He also bitterly resents the fact that most of the musical backgrounds heard on television series are recorded in Europe by European musicians at "slave labor prices."
He feels that if the public is apprised of this fact and realizes that it is throwing American musicians out of work they will boycott the sponsors and force a change.
"Look at the furor Minow created," Taubman returned to his theme, "and he didn't even mention music. I think Minow is right—the public is being cheated, but it is also being cheated of the right to get good music on the screen. People shouldn't be spoonfed with the type of music they get on TV."
On the affirmative side, Paul feels that Leonard Bernstein has done a fine job in bringing good music to the public in a way that doesn't scare them off. "What is culture anyway?" Taubman insisted. Poetry, prose, music and art—and nobody says a word about music. I'm disgusted!
"I got a beer company to sponsor me," he went on, "and I go out in the streets and in the parks and to places like Coney Island and I give free concerts. And the people are so glad to hear music. I was recorded, but so many of the people who heard the concerts can't afford to buy the albums. Why should they be deprived of music? I'm fighting for live music and next summer I'll go into the parks again and I'll continue to draw thousands and thousands of people. Who knows, maybe eventually I'll be able to do a program on television.
"1 have been approached by all three networks to do a musical program," Paul said, "but not as a public service. I can't go out digging for sponsors. I think the networks should sponsor such organizations as the symphony of the air and create their own orchestras and chamber music groups and jazz groups. Jazz—those poor guys have to earn their livings in smoke-filled dives.
"I think the networks should support and encourage all forms of music and put these groups on the air. Let the public be exposed to good music and it will like it. Who knows, maybe the networks could even develop some successfully sponsored programs if only they'd let the public see for themselves."
It seems odd that such a cry for cultural TV music should come from someone whose career began with what became clichéd organ chords and effects on soaps.

Taubman moved on to other things. He conducted an All-American Big Brass Band that toured Africa in 1965 under the auspices of the U.S. State Department. He sold the Penthouse and began work in December 1976 in client relations for Emil Ascher Music which, among other things, sold production libraries. And he reunited with Bob and Ray in 1984 on their show on National Public Radio, retiring to Florida in 1988.

Paul Taubman was born in Winnipeg on May 10, 1911 (Taubman’s father was a Russian-born bookkeeper) and died in Sarasota on May 30, 1994. Taubman never saw his wish fulfilled. Other than late night shows, live music on TV is as obsolete as a soap opera organ.

Tuesday, 6 October 2015

A Fully-Animated Introduction

MGM’s animators were among the best at making expressive characters. A good example is the ring announcer in Tex Avery’s Señor Droopy, animated by Walt Clinton, Bob Cannon, Grant Simmons, Mike Lah and Preston Blair.

First, he calls for quiet by waving his arms. He freezes into place, but the strings on his tie continue to move from the force of his gestures. He opens his eyes. Then he introduces the matador wolf. Here are some of the drawings (by Blair and his assistant?).



Even MGM cartoons wouldn’t feature that kind of action a few years later, partly due to the characters being more stylised. When TV rolled around, this scene might be replaced by a background drawing of a loudspeaker horn with a few lines animated in a circle coming out of it. It still works but it’s not as enjoyable to watch.

Monday, 5 October 2015

Meadows!

Much has been said about the geometric shapes and camera angles in Chuck Jones’ “The Aristo-Cat” (1943) when the spoiled housecat (Claude) realises the butler he has been tormenting has walked out on him.

There’s an interesting effect that adds to the cat’s discombobulation from the audience’s perspective. After some smear drawings (Ben Washam?), the cat runs toward the camera, then turns into a profile. Jones then had the camera enlarge the drawings of the cat to make it larger and bring it into the foreground. Claude doesn’t run closer to the audience. He’s actually running in place; it’s all a camera trick.



The cartoon marks the debut of Claude and the head-game-playing mice, Hubie and Bertie.

Sunday, 4 October 2015

How Many Singers For a Nickel?

“How I could use some of that fuzz today,” Jack Benny read, and then quipped to the studio audience on Fred Allen’s show “I could use a good joke today, too.”

Benny’s character was so well defined, you’d think it would have been easy for writers of other radio shows to come up with gags for him when he made guest appearances on them. But sometimes, they just fell flat. Benny was smart with his persona. He might do a cheap joke, followed by a toupee joke, followed by “39” joke, followed by a noisy Maxwell. He wouldn’t do five minutes of cheap jokes. That was overkill. He knew comedians in the ‘30s—Jack Pearl and Joe Penner, for example—who relied on a small number of catchphrases and then faded from the airwaves when audiences got tired of the same lines.

Jack appeared on Philco Radio Time, starring Bing Crosby, on March 3, 1948. He’s featured in two scenes of almost nothing but Benny being cheap. The routine works because of the payoff at the end and a creative bit where Jack calculates the value-per-nickel of selections in a jukebox (he did the same thing on his own radio show, in the ‘50s, I believe). The New York-based PM favourably reviewed the show and ended it with an adept summation. This appeared in the March 9th edition. The picture below is from the show (but not from PM), with Breneman to the left and Der Bingle in the centre. Sara Berner reprised her Benny show role as Gladys Zybyzko, but being a mere supporting player, wasn’t deemed big enough for the photo.

Benny Gets a Hundred Laughs With a Nickel
By SEYMOUR PECK

Stinginess, not ordinarily a trait we admire, has become one of Jack Benny's most attractive qualities.
We would not want him to change, possibly because we sense that Benny has grown into something we so rarely find in radio—a complete personality, so full-grown and familiar that it is a pleasure to come across him each week and watch what situations his stinginess, his little vanities, his petty foibles will lead him into this time. He is pretty much of a human being to us and very much of an old friend.
Making a guest appearance on the last Bing Crosby show, Benny worked the miser routine again for a whole half hour, and it still seemed fresh and amusing as ever. Lines that were less than funny per se became delightful when illumined by Benny's special personality.
Benny was out with his girl friend, Gladys Szabisco. "Maybe it's the moon, maybe it's the stars," said Benny, "but I want to say something to you I've never said to any girl before."
"What's that?" asked Gladys.
"I'd like to buy you a drink," said Benny. Hardly a panic as jokes go, but it brought a howl from the studio audience. It was the laughter of recognition; they knew all about Benny and his smallness and here it was again for them to laugh over.
Benny takes Gladys into Tom Breneman's restaurant. He orders a glass of muscatel. Will the lady have the same, asks the waiter.
"No," says Benny, the personification of generosity, "bring the lady her own glass of muscatel."
Benny gets up to play something on the juke box.
"Bing Crosby . . . naaaah," he says, examining the titles. "The Andrews Sisters . . . gee, there's three of them . . . the four Mills Brothers . . . the Ink Spots I wonder how many spots."
But Gladys wants Crosby, so Jack starts to put a nickel in for the Crosby record. Suddenly he hesitates.
"I was just wondering . . . Gladys, all these people sitting around, do they hear it, too?"
"Yes," says Gladys.
"Honestly," says Jack with indignation, "some people go through life listening to the other fellow's nickel."
The machine starts but gets stuck. "It's gotta play," says the incredulous Benny, "my nickel's in there." He asks the waiter to get Breneman.
"Breneman stepped out," says the waiter.
"Stepped out?" says Benny accusingly, "he sneaked out." Benny decides to go right to Bing Crosby about the whole thing. Bing says ha can't do anything about getting Benny's nickel back.
"If you put a nickel in a jukebox to hear me play the violin and you didn't hear me," asks Benny, now would you feel?"
From Crosby there is only a long silence.
"Well, let's take another example . . ." says Benny.
Finally Crosby concedes. ."You do have a legitimate beef," he admits.
"Oh, Bingsy," says Benny, melting.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," says Crosby. "You put a nickel into the jukebox to hear me sing a song. I'm going to sing it for you right now." "Hmmmmmm," says Benny. The longest, most disgruntled hmmmm in the whole world.
"You mean instead of giving me back my nickel, you're going to stand there and sing that song for me?" asks Benny.
"Yes," says Crosby.
"How can one guy be so cheap?" cries Benny.
● ● ●
Well, Benny's been like that for years now, but it was still great fun. Amidst all the hue and cry for new material and more original comedy, I think we would all be content for Jack Benny to be stingy forever.

Saturday, 3 October 2015

He's Terrific

Not too many teenaged boys have stage names, but you see one in the picture to the right. He was born Lionel Lazarus Salzer on March 22, 1924 in Brooklyn. His claim to fame is being one of the best cartoon voices in New York in the mid-1950s.

By the 1950s, Terrytoons were at the bottom of the barrel when it came to theatrical animation. Owner Paul Terry didn’t care. He had no incentive to make them look or sound better. 20th Century Fox wanted them, paid to release them, and Terry made money from them. Then CBS wanted them, so he sold the network his studio and made even more money. Fortunately there were enough creative people at Terrytoons that some of the studio’s cartoons were entertaining.

Soon thereafter came a chap named Gene Deitch, who took over production at the studio while fending off corporate sharks. His theatrical Terrytoons are a mixed bag, too, but maybe his best achievement was the production of a series for CBS-TV called Tom Terrific.

Tom wasn’t Bugs Bunny funny where the bad guy was embarrassed, ridiculed and bashed around. But the cartoons were amusing in their own way. I always liked the contrast between the buoyant Tom and the laconic Manfred. I’m sure suburban and small-town kids watching the show knew at least one lazy dog in the neighbourhood like Manfred. And much like the morphing of the theatrical cartoons made in New York in the 1920s and early ‘30s, the Tom Terrific cartoons featured a funnel hat had that could conveniently change shapes; kids watched to see what creative things Tom would do with it to get out of trouble. It was a charming and imaginative series, made on what looks like no budget. And, to get back to the point of this post, the voices were all provided by Lionel Wilson.

Wilson’s work wasn’t always directed at children. In 1944, he appeared in the comedy Good Morning, Corporal, which PM decreed “the dirtiest show that has hit Broadway in many months.” Most of Wilson’s work through the ‘40s and ‘50s appears to have been on the stage, and at tent shows in Skancateles, though he did some local TV acting as well. He landed a role as the son’s friend in the soap opera “They Live in Brooklyn” which debuted on WPIX in July 1950. And in 1953, he appeared in an adaptation of the Broadway show Janie on WOR-TV.

Wilson’s hiring for cartoon work is a bit of a surprise, if only for the fact that Deitch was enamoured with the versatile Allen Swift and seems to have used him for everything. But Deitch related once how, when he was overseeing things at UPA in New York, Wilson showed up for an audition for a commercial and bowled over everyone with his range and talent. So when Deitch toddled over to Terrytoons, Wilson easily found work (as did Swift).

Wilson came to animation just late enough that when he passed away from pneumonia in 2003, stories were written about him in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times and the Associated Press; guys like Arthur Q. Bryan died long before kids who devoured cartoons on TV grew up to be nostalgia adults. This is what Variety wrote about him in its obit.
Lionel Wilson, actor-writer perhaps best known to baby boomers as the voice of funnel-topped Tom Terrific in the same-named cartoon shown on TV's "Captain Kangaroo," but whose work spanned six decades on the stage and TV as well as in print and recordings, died April 30 in New York of natural causes. He was 79.

He made his Broadway debut at 14 in "Dodsworth," and was featured in "Kiss and Tell," "Janie" and "The Fragile Fox."

He toured with Gardner McKay in "The Fantasticks," played Bud Frump in a tour of "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying" and was featured in "Matinee Theatre" on TV's old Dumont Network.

Beginning in the 1950s, he focused more on voice work, including TV commercials and cartoons. Besides Tom Terrific, he voiced Tom's pal Manfred the Wonder Dog, and just before his final illness he voiced Eustace the Farmer in Cartoon Network's "Courage the Cowardly Dog."

He penned a mystery thriller for the stage based on the novel "Come and Be Killed," which toured summer stock and starred June Havoc and Signe Hasso, and he wrote children's stories, including "The Mule Who Refused to Budge," released by Crown Publishers and which featured Wilson reading the stories on accompanying CDs.

He also read dozens of other children's books for the Listening Library including "Chicken Little," "Chocolate Fever" and "Commander Toad in Space."

At the time of his death, he had just completed editing his memoir "... And Also in the Cast."

A brother survives.
Wilson was also the voice of Sidney the elephant, another of Deitch’s good creations at Terrytoons. Sidney featured Cleo, a giraffe that sounded like Carol Channing. That was Wilson, too.

Here’s a Tom Terrific adventure for you, complete with Wilson singing the theme song. Too bad there’s video interlacing.

Friday, 2 October 2015

Piano Landing

A bank robber tells Woody Woodpecker to keep playing while he hides in a piano in Convict Concerto (1954). The piano, Woody, the con and an incompetent cop incredibly drop from the sky into a prison yard. Lantz cartoons in the first part of the ‘50s featured thick ink lines on teeny characters at times.

The piano and characters all land in time to the music, with the force of the landing bouncing things back into mid-air.



Cut to a close-up. The shots match.



And like the spirit of Bugs Hardaway was hovering over writer Hugh Harman, the cartoon ends with a character going insane. Some of Woody’s expressions as the camera fades out (he’s still playing the unattached keys but is getting piano music out of them anyway).



The soundtrack features Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, a favourite of animation directors. It is featured in Bars and Stripes (Mintz/Columbia, 1931), Dipsy Gypsy (George Pal/Paramount, 1941), Rhapsody in Rivets (Warners, 1941), Rhapsody Rabbit (Warners, 1946), The Cat Concerto (MGM, 1947) and The Magic Fluke (UPA/Columbia, 1949).

Ray Abrams, Don Patterson and Herman Cohen are the credited animators on this one. Patterson is also supposedly the director. Why he wouldn’t get screen credit, I don’t know, as he did elsewhere when he directed and animated. The Lantz studio was in a state of flux around the time this short would have gone into production. Mike Maltese had just arrived at the studio to write and Tex Avery was on his way to direct. Not only was Don Patterson demoted, the directing team of his brother Ray and Grant Simmons was about to leave, or had left, Lantz to open their open commercial studio. (The assumption is false that they made cartoons for Lantz under Grantray-Lawrence; the studio didn’t exist at the time).

This was Harman’s only writing credit for the studio.

Thursday, 1 October 2015

That Doesn't Look Like Ida

Some shapely-legged chorines dance in a Western bar to “Ida (Sweet As Apple Cider)” in the Tom and Jerry cartoon In the Bag (1932). Except they aren’t chorines at all. They turn out to be twin cowpokes.



The dance movements are well defined in this sequence, but the arms whip around like rubber bands. There’s no skeletal structure (a Disney cartoon it ain’t).

The title refers to a bag of money Tom and Jerry get for capturing a desperado. It turns out they don’t get either.

I wish I knew more about Gene Rodemich’s score for this cartoon. Once the bad guy makes his escape from the saloon to when Tom rides into the forest, you might recognise the great 1906 hit “Cheyenne” which Carl Stalling tossed into a bunch of Warner Bros. cartoons. Play the version by Billy Murray below.

Wednesday, 30 September 2015

The Joke's Over

How many times have you said “Enough already!” when you’re on-line and see that’s someone’s still joking about something that’s been milked to death? Perhaps you’ve used a stronger phrase.

Like the aforementioned milk, pop culture has a time limit before it starts to go sour and is replaced by something else. It happens in music, it happens on television and it happens with humour. If it didn’t, we’d still be listening to Alma Gluck records, watching The Des O’Connor Show and laughing at Earl Butz jokes.

But some people just don’t recognise when something is past its best-before date. And that was the complaint of eye-rolling radio critic John Crosby in a column of May 5, 1948.

Crosby’s column was kind a two-parter. The first dealt with the latest comeback by Phil Baker. Baker had been a top vaudeville comedian in the 1920s, whose routine involved getting heckled by a stooge he planted in the audience. He was among the top comics who jumped into radio within about 18 months of each other. Baker beat Doc Rockwell, Harry Richman, Walter O’Keefe, Julius Tannen and Phil Cook in an audition for a variety show for Armour that began in March 1933 and, at $3,700 per broadcast, was the most expensive programme originating from Chicago at the time. The ‘30s rolled on, but Baker fell out of the top echelon of radio stars. He reinvigorated his career at the end of 1941 when he took over from Bob Hawk as the host of a game show on CBS.

The second part of the column involved a Crosby favourite, the jaded Henry Morgan, who vocalised his distaste for a lot of the things Crosby didn’t like about network radio. Comedians, beginning with Jack Benny, made fun of their sponsors. Morgan went further. He was on the scale between utter disdain and contempt. Benny was joking. Morgan seemed deadly serious. Not coincidentally, Morgan didn’t keep sponsors very long. One of them was Standard Laboratories, for a brief period between January 29 and June 24, 1948 (the contract was for 52 weeks). Variety gave the debut a “here’s the problem with it” review, believing Morgan’s satire was not always polished and he only had enough good material to last 15 minutes instead of a full half hour. Crosby found some different problems.

Here’s the review.

Radio in Review
By JOHN CROSBY
New Quiz, Old Morgan

There’s a new quiz show on the air, if any one is interested, called “Everybody Wins.” There is nothing else new about it except the candor of its title. Everybody has always won on these things but this show brings the matter out in the open. The chief distinction of “Everybody Wins” is that it restores Phil Baker to the microphone and, on the basis of his opening performance, that isn’t much of a distinction.
Baker seemed hostile not only to “Everybody Wins” but also to quiz shows in general and quiz contestants in particular. This feeling is by no means confined to Mr. Baker, but it’s a little surprising to find him sharing it since he’s been mixed up in this form of activity for quite a spell. For years he asked people to take it or leave it on the show of that name and finally left it himself, presumably because he could no longer stomach handing out $64 to the curious people who infested the place. Yet here he is back again passing out cash to people he gave every evidence of loathing. Some macabre compulsion, probably.
Because of his long layoff, he was also a little out of touch with the current fashions in jokes. There was one about Easter bonnets and an even more belated gag about Howard Hughes, two topics which have been laid aside temporarily by the more hep comedians.
About all else you need to know about this show is that listeners send in five questions. If a contestant gets them all right, the listener who sent in the questions gets $100. If the contestant gets them all wrong, the listener gets $100. Everybody wins all right. That’s enough on the subject.
Whenever you consider people with an apparent loathing for their profession you run squarely into Henry Morgan. One of Morgan devoted fans once told me he had bought an Eversharp Schick razor in spite of the scorn with which Henry treated it. He begged me not to tell Morgan about it, fearing he would lose the comedian’s respect. I believe he bought it at an obscure little drugstore in Harlem where he wasn’t known. Probably asked for it in whispers. I’m not altogether sure it’s the function of a comedian to put the product that pays the bill into this position. I don’t say he has to sell the product exactly but I don’t think he should try to prevent people from buying it.
On his new program, which is new only in that it’s at a different time and under different sponsorship, Mr. Morgan has to some degree curbed his dislike of consumer products. He still delivers commercials but he remains extraordinarily aloof from them. His detachment from the marvels of Rayve Cream Shampoo—even while he’s talking about them—is as marvelous and complete as that of Edgar Bergen from Charlie McCarthy.
Mr. Morgan, one of the most talented and least manageable comics on the air, has been a little spotty this year. I bring it up only because I’m fond of the boy and this hurts me worse than it does him. Morgan has gained ease and polish as a performer but the scripts are partly bright, partly terrible and partly just tired.
For quite a while now, for reasons not apparent to me, Mr. Morgan has been carrying on something called the “John J. Morgan Trouble Clinic,” a satire and quite a vicious little one on John J. Anthony. This would be a noble project if Mr. Anthony were still on the air. But he isn’t. (Or if he is, he’s out of my range.) There must be fresher idiocies to parody than that one.
Also, Mr. Morgan has developed quite a crush on Phil Silvers, who’s been present four times this season. Seems to me a man who’s been around that long should lose his status as guest star and take his turn at the bathroom like every one else. I have nothing in particular against Mr. Silvers, but his appearance four times indicates a lack of imagination somewhere.
To pass on to pleasanter aspects, Morgan’s weekly tilts with that tired, perennially distrustful Gerard (Arnold Stang) are a joy; Bernie Green’s orchestra, which behaves like a drunken player-piano, massacres popular music even more convincingly than Spike Jones. And, of course, there’s Morgan himself who, after two years, still manages to avoid the comedy cliches of all the other radio comedians. But he’d better be careful not to develop his own cliches.


1948 wasn’t the best year for Morgan. Besides Rayve dropping his show, his movie So This is New York didn’t do well at the box office and his TV show, being broadcast from Philadelphia because ABC had no facilities in New York yet, was abruptly cancelled because of television’s first technicians strike.

And Morgan also lost his announcer during this period. Charlie Irving sounds a lot like actor John Brown to me, but Morgan’s sponsor thought he sounded like someone else. From Weekly Variety of March 24, 1948:
Too Much Morgan
After two years with the Henry Morgan show, Charles Irving has been dropped as announcer because "he sounds too much like Henry Morgan."

Two replacements were hired. Bob Sheppard to read the commercials and (after exhaustive auditions) Doug Browning to do the opening and closing announcements and play stooge bits. Doug Browning was dropped after one broadcast, and Glen Riggs now has the assignment.
Decision to replace Irving was made by the client, Rayve shampoo, and the agency, Roche, Williams & Cleary, after an analysis by comedy consultant Ernest Walker indicated that Morgan "lacks identification" and that his and Irving's voices sound similar at times.
Incidentally, Morgan didn’t take Crosby’s advice. He dragged out another parody of Mr. Anthony on his broadcast of Oct. 1, 1948. You can hear it below. Cartoon fans should recognise the woman who plays Big Sister-in-Law in the soap opera sketch and the distressed woman in the John J. Anthony parody.