No Ogg-scaping

The baker at the Ogg Café thinks he can avoid the “invitation” by Martian Dictator/Commander-in-Chief Ogg to Ogg Memorial Stadium to hear him introduce Colonel Cosmic.



Not so fast.



Destination Earth from John Sutherland Productions was animated by George Cannata, Russ Von Neida, Tom Ray, Bill Higgins and Ken O’Brien. The great designs are by Tom Oreb and Vic Haboush.

Not This Time, Flip

Flip the Frog gets a false face so his girl will go for him in Funny Face (1932), but a bully cracks it off with continual punches.



Flip checks the mirror.



Flip clearly says the word “Damn!” but no vocal is heard on the soundtrack.



The word “damn” can be heard in at least two other Flips, The Cuckoo Murder Case (1930) and Bulloney (1933). As the latter was released after this one, it’s silly to believe it was somehow banned in this cartoon.

TV Tallu

You’re NBC. You’re paying a star on radio a large amount of money for a big show. In fact, “The Big Show.” But ad revenues are down because sponsors are moving to television.

What do you do? You put the star on television after a big publicity build-up.

Such was the circumstance under which Tallulah Bankhead made her TV debut.

The “glamourous, unpredictable” Bankhead had been hired by the network in 1950 to front a 90-minute radio variety show featuring big names, ostensibly to show listeners and ad agencies there was still life left in the old medium. NBC took it off the air after two seasons and a lot of red ink.

But maybe the problem was radio. The network decided to put her on television. And the timing was perfect. Bankhead’s controversial autobiography had just been released, raising her profile even more.

So it was that Bankhead debuted on “All-Star Revue” opposite Jackie Gleason on CBS on October 11, 1952. That same day, a small newspaper syndicate published a column about it. Bankhead’s opening routine that evening would be a critics satire co-starring Groucho Marx and Ethel Barrymore (hardly noted for her comedy). The syndicate decided to satirise the satire. The material is about at par with what I’ve seen from a transcription of the broadcast.

The Once Over
By H. I. PHILLIPS
(Released by The Associated Newspapers)
Tallulah Meets The Critics
("Tallulah Bankhead is opening her first video program with a sketch in which, with Groucho Marx and Ethel Barrymore, she burlesques the "Arthur Meets the Critic' program."—News item)
Tallulah.—Well, Groucho, you read my book, of course.
Groucho.—Yes, I enjoyed every chapter of "Crusade in Europe."
Tallulah.—That's the wrong book.
Groucho.—Oh, I remember now, you wrote that new one, "Giant," with Edna Ferber.
Tallulah.—Buster, when I write about Giants they're plural and the scene is the Polo Grounds, not Texas. The title of my book was "Tallulah."
Groucho.—I wish I could make the questions that tough on my program.
Tallulah.—What part did you enjoy most?
Groucho.—I liked the part where the big fish towed you four days and nights and the sharks stripped It to the bones by the time you got back to Havana.
Tallulah.—That was Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea."

Groucho.—My mistake. You're the author of "Tallulah the Old Girl of NBC." I read your other story, "Blood, Sweat and Tears."
Tallulah.—That was just the chapter in which I told of my row with Lillian Hellman and my experiences with Billy Rose, Leland Hayward, Louis B. Mayer and Somerset Maugham. Do you think my book has suspense and drama?
Groucho.—Yes. I think it falls somewhere between "Kon Tiki" and "Gone With the Wind."
Tallulah.—In my book I do not fight the Civil War all over again or cross the ocean on a raft.
Groucho.—Some of the people you wallop in that yarn will feel as if they had been through both experiences.
Tallulah.—Tell me, Groucho, has it a chance to be chosen the Book of the Month?
Groucho.—Only if the jury is spiked with Southerners, baby.
Tallulah.—Mr. Marx having indorsed (what am I saying?) my book, I turn to you, Miss Barrymore, for unfavorable criticism. Did you read it?
Ethel.—No, but I thought it wonderful.
Tallulah.—How could you enjoy it if you never read it?
Ethel.—That's the only way I could like it.
Tallulah.—What was your chief impression?
Ethel.—I thought it a little shocking in its candor.
Tallulah.—What did you expect, "Herbert Hoover's Memoirs"?
Ethel.—Yes.
Tallulah.—Sum up, Ethel.
Ethel.—I would say few authors have told so much about so many for so much. But it will leave your public pretty sore. You confess to being in love with only two men, one of whom is dead. The other, who is still alive, you keep secret.
Tallulah.—Maybe I should boost sales by identifying the man now and end the guessing.
Groucho.—Not here, sister. Save it for my quiz show, "You Bet Your Life." Give the answer there and you can win a $2,750 jackpot!
Ethel.—And remember, Tallulah, NO PROMPTING!

Being a child of Broadway, Tallu naturally did what anyone on Broadway would do on opening night—go to a restaurant for a party and await the early newspaper reviews. This syndicated story appeared on October 15th.

Tallulah Goes to Rescue Of Big Show in Her Honor
By MARY FRAZER
NEW YORK, Oct. 15.—Tallulah shouted "Quiet!" in a southern accent that should have been heard clear back home in Alabama.
A few seconds before the microphone was dying and Sid Ceasar's [sic] master-of-ceremonies routine was falling flat on its face. For one, horrible moment it had looked as if the private "Little Big Show"—a magnificent $1 million worth of talent set to perform for the guest of honor—was going to do exactly the same thing.
Then, when the imperious "Quiet!" startled everyone into attention, Tallulah signaled singer Johnny Johnston. Johnny inched his way through a Pen and Pencil restaurant so jam-packed with celebrities you could scarcely tell Van Heflin from Eva Gabor. As comedian Ceasar walked away with an "I've had it" gesture, Johnny joined Tallulah at the mike.
Old Song
"Let's everybody sing . . . 'Harvest Moon,' Johnny said.
He and Tallulah gave with the first chords. And everybody followed.
It was the gol-darndest community sing ever staged, with Dorothy King and D. Sarnoff, Vivian (Guys and Dolls) Blaine, Cobina Wright Sr., Don Ameche, Eddie Arcaro and Beatrice Lillie just few of the members of the star-spangled chorus.
Thus was New York's gayest and most glittering party in many a moon climaxed.

The affair feted Tallulah. The reason was fourfold. It began at midnight, celebrating Tallulah's television debut of a few hours before. It was a "Ta Ta Talloo, saying goodbye to the inimitable Alabaman who goes to Hollywood for her part in the movie, "Broadway to Hollywood." It inaugurated host John Bruno's new policy of maintaining late hours for show folk and show-goers. And it was an excellent excuse for some 200 lucky friends of Tallulah's to have the time of their lives.
Wears Low-Cut Gown
Tallulah, wearing a low cut black velvet gown, entered regally to hold court at a table set against a backdrop of covers from her new book. Cass Canfield, head of Harpers Publishing Co; comedian Reginald Gardiner; Celebrity Service President Earl Blackwell; harried Publicist Michael O'Shea (who had everything from cops to autograph hounds outside to uninvited guests inside to worry about) were her table-mates . .. for a relatively quiet 10 minutes. Then the singing started.
The guests sang everything that came into Johnny's or Tallulah's minds. Then the two rambled the room, singing "May the Good Lord Bless and Keep You."
The "Little Big Show" ended with a warm, Christmas-Eve-ish sort of feeling . . . with most of those who'd been slightly startled at "Silent Night" being included in the repertoire deciding maybe it was a fair idea after all.

NBC had a mild disaster on its hands. The show was kinescoped for the West Coast to be broadcast a week later. But some columnists in the West complained that the huge NBC hype machine caused their editors to leave space open for reviews on opening night, so they had to see the show right away. In 1952, that wasn’t so easy. After some frantic calls to 50 Rockefeller Plaza, a special closed-circuit line was opened so critics could see the show in a Los Angeles restaurant as it happened.

Perhaps that was a bad idea. Critics had mixed opinions. All of them didn’t seem to like the writing, some felt Tallulah rose above it. That’s not the best way for a network to start an expensive, promising show. On March 17, 1953, Variety reported Gleason outdrew Bankhead almost 2 to 1 on her final starring show of the season three days earlier, despite a change in writers (Neil and Danny Simon were now putting words in her mouth). It appears everyone had enough. Bankhead decided she’d go to Vegas where she could let loose far more than on television, and NBC announced on April 1, 1953 she would appear in a sitcom next fall. Bankhead and the other rotating stars joined together for a last broadcast on April 18th. All-Star Revue was cancelled by month’s end.

It turned out NBC had no plans for her. She appeared periodically on talk shows and, famously, as the Black Widow on Batman a couple of years before her death. In a way, she was another radio star who didn’t make the transition to television but she really didn’t fit either medium. The stage was her real home.

Heap Big Stereotype

Time for an eye-rolling gag from Tex Avery. Even he knew it was an eye roller.

The chief walks into an Indian brave. The brave explains he’s a half breed. Then he turns to face the camera.



Avery gives his opinion of this stereotype gag through the character.



This is from Jerky Turkey (1945), animated by Ray Abrams, Preston Blair and Ed Love.

He's Toinin Plaid

Hubie’s way ahead of Bert in playing mind games on Claude Cat in The Hypo-Chrondri-Cat. Hubie has to slam Bert around to get him to catch on after pointing at the cat and saying “He’s toinin’ green.”

I like the disgusted look on Hubie’s face when Bert gets wise and declares that Claude is turning green.



Director Chuck Jones has the colours appear in Claude’s eyes before he changes colour. First, green, then purple, then plaid. (Carl Stalling has “The Campbells Are Coming” accompany the last gag).



The story’s by Mike Maltese with animation by the Jones usuals of 1949—Ben Washam, Lloyd Vaughan, Ken Harris and Phil Monroe.

Benny, Cantor, Crosby and Lotions-of-Love Winchell

Jack Benny wins. Walter Winchell wins. Paramount wins. And, ultimately, newspaper readers win, too.

Gossip columnists, like the rest of us, have to take time off work. One of the favourite ways to fill space during the respite was to have stars as fill-in columnists. I suspect in most cases, the stars had their writers pounding out inches at the typewriter.

Walter Winchell’s column of July 22, 1938 has Jack Benny’s byline. I imagine part of the deal was Benny got to plug his coming Paramount picture in return for gossip and gag copy. Jack (or Bill Morrow or Ed Beloin) tosses in references to Eddie Cantor, Fred Allen, Bing Crosby (including his horses) and his four-year-old daughter speaking like the Kingfish, which strikes me as highly improbable.

Jack Benny Buys a Clock, Gets a Grandfather, Free walk home.
(Today's guest columnist for Walter Winchell is Jack Benny, radio-screen comedian).
By JACK BENNY
Dear Walter:
I received your letter (with three cents postage due) asking me to write a column for you while you are on your vacation. That’s fine. You’re on your vacation and I’m slaving and sweating in front of a hot camera, so why should I bother substituting for you? Why should I put myself out? Why should I take these few precious moments of freedom between scenes and use them in grinding out words to fill your space? You want to know why? Because I’m a ham. I like to see my name in print, even if it’s on a police blotter. So without further ado, I bring you your Hollywood correspondent—Jack Benny!
Well, to begin with, Walter, you asked me to give you some of the latest dope about Hollywood and the movie colony, as I rub elbows with all the important people here. Now I ask you, how much information can you get from an elbow?
The hottest thing in town right now is the Hollywood Park racetrack. It’s a beautiful place. You can get there by taxicab in 15 minutes, and it only takes you three hours to walk home.
It is a very modern track and the last word in progress. Everything there is streamlined, except the nags I bet on. I put $2 on one the other day, and as he was coming into the stretch he lost his wooden leg.
And everything is so formal there. The jockeys work in top hat, white tie, and the horses work in tails. They'll do anything out here, Walter. They even tried to get the Supreme Court for judges.
Bing Crosby has been very fortunate lately, as all of his horses have been winning. He happens to have the next dressing room to mine at Paramount, so I hid a dictaphone in his room to try and get some information. I played the record back today. All I found out was, his tailor's name is Smith, his youngest child is teething, and I’m a heel.
Can you Imagine that, Walter? And after all the things I’ve done for Crosby . . . What’s that? What have I done for Crosby? Well, for one thing, Walter, I have never played "Sweet Leilani" on my violin. Some gratitude.
Now let’s see, what else is going on in Hollywood? . . . Oh, yes. N. B. C. is building a new studio on Vine St. C. B. S. has already opened theirs, and the E. C. A. S. (Eddie Cantor's Antique Shop) is doing very well. I went in there the other day to pick up an antique chair and got paint all over my hands. Eddie had the nerve to tell me that it's been drying since the 15th century. I hope my hand has better luck.
Incidentally, Cantor just sailed for Europe, and the day before he left Hollywood he sold me a grandfather's clock, which financed his trip. I didn't mind that so much, but when I got home and opened the clock, his grandfather was in it.
By the way, Walter, you might be interested to know that Mary and I will be moving into our new home soon. It is really beautiful and located directly across the street from the lot you bought on Roxbury Drive. If you contemplate building on your property, I hope you will put in an extra bathroom, as the architect forgot ours.
Mary and I had quite a lot to do with the building of our new home. I’m not much of a carpenter myself, but Mary took up brick-laying at Vassar. Believe me, it came in very handy.
We had a hard time deciding on the type of architecture. Mary wanted our home to be French Colonial and I held out for Early Spanish. However, we finally compromised. The house is going to be French Colonial, but early every morning I’m going to have a Spanish omelette for breakfast.

And, Walter, I wish you could see our swimming pool. It's really lovely. But I do think it’s a little too large, as last night we had a typhoon in it. But even then I didn’t realise how enormous our pool was until I strolled over there this morning and found our backyard filled with beachcombers. Something will have to be done about that.
But the house itself is furnished in excellent taste. We have a gorgeous living-room overlooking a group of bill-collectors, a lovely dining room, and a beautiful den with a lion in it.
Well, so much for my house. Now let's see, what else is there to talk about?
DING-A-LING-LING! Oh, pardon me, Walter, there’s the telephone. (CLICK) HELLO . . . YES . . . OKAY, I’LL BE RIGHT OVER, GOODBY. (CLICK.)
Excuse me, Walter, that was the assistant director calling me on the set.
You know I’m in the middle of "Artists and Models Abroad," the new Paramount picture I’m making with Joan Bennett. Joan is a wonderful girl to work with. She’s so sweet and understanding. No matter how many times I forget my lines, she never says a word. She just groans. Yesterday I played a love scene with her, and I was so thrilled that I forgot to kiss her. I guess she was thrilled, too, as she forgot to remind me.
Our director, Mitch Leisen—who is one of the best in the business—runs a Men’s Shop on the side. So far in the picture I have a large wardrobe but a very small part. One of my checks bounced the other day, and he cut me out or three scenes. And is he commercial! He says he won't let me marry Joan Bennett at the end of the picture unless I buy a camel’s hair coat.
So you can see, Walter, what I’m up against. And that isn't all. The cameraman also sells insurance. And since I have all the insurance I need, you can imagine how I'm going to photograph.
But what worries me most about my career in the cinema is Mister Zukor, the head of the studio. I think he has lumbago, as he hasn't bent over to pick up my option.
But I’ll be through pretty soon, Walter, and go on my vacation. I haven’t decided just where to go, but I would like some place unusual this year . . . some tropical island nestled in the blue Pacific, with palm trees swaying in the breeze. So after looking up the boat fares to Tahiti, I’ve about decided on Catalina Island. I know it's only a short way from Hollywood, but I’m going on the far side of the island where, on a clear day, you can see Honolulu in the newsreel. I know Honolulu is very romantic with its beautiful native girls in their grass skirts, but I like women I can smoke around.
If I have time, I'll also take a trip East for a short visit. And inasmuch as I’m on a very strict diet, I’ll probably stay at the home of my old friend, Fred Allen. He has a cook who even knows how to make hash out of hash. In fact, Allen is so tight that—(KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!) ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT, I’M COMING!
I'm sorry, Walter, but I've got to run along now, as they're ready for me on the set.
Oh, by the way, before I go I must tell you about my little daughter, Joanie, aged four. I told her this morning I was going to write a column for Walter Winchell. And what do you think she said? You'll never guess. She said, "Daddy, are you going to get paid for writing this column?" I said. "No, darling." And she said. "Daddy, you-all sho am slippin’!" (You see, Walter, we have a colored nurse.)
Well, that’s about all. Have a good time, Walter. Relax, take it easy, and don’t do anything that will upset you. In other words, don’t read this column.
Best wishes always. JACK BENNY.
P. S. I just saw your picture on the front cover of Time Magazine. Gee, you're pretty!

Animators at War

Bob Givens was never recognised on screen for his work with Bugs Bunny in 1940, but he was in the press a year later.

When the U.S. entered World War Two, animators were among those who found themselves in the service of Uncle Sam. Some of them, however, spent their days working on films. On the West Coast, the First Motion Picture Unit produced training films, with Rudy Ising overseeing the animation division. Perhaps the best known animated short is Position Firing, starring Trigger Joe.

On the East Coast, the Signal Corps set up a film division at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey. Little apparently has been written about what was made there, but there were certainly enough animators sent there.

The first story appeared in both the Red Bank Daily Standard (June 26, 1941) and the Fort Monmouth Signal (July 2, 1941). The second story appeared in the latter edition. You should recognise many of the names in the first one. The second is a brief squib about actor and former New York fur salesman Danny Webb, who can be heard in the cartoons of a number of West Coast studios. The date should give you an idea of the time when he stopped voice work. We wrote a bit about him in this post. In the following story, as well as in the earlier post, he claims to be the voice of Bugs Bunny. I don’t even think he voiced the rabbit in those late ‘30s, still-in-development cartoons, nor do I remember him doing Andy Panda, though he was in at least one Andy Panda cartoon.

My thanks to Mariana Givens for the use of her dad’s photo.

Disney Aides Stationed Here
Other Hollywood Cartoon Artists, Story Directors In The Army Now
Recent additions to the personnel of Fort Monmouth's polyglot Fifth Battalion include Donald Duck, Porky Pig, and Popeye the Sailor. The beloved animated cartoon characters haven't actually joined the Army, but all three are represented at Fort Monmouth by men who helped create them.
The roster of Co. E. of the 5th Signal Training Battalion includes no less than ten artists and story directors from Hollywood animation studios.
Leading with the largest contingent is the Walt Disney Studio, home pond of the irrepressible Donald himself. Disney Men now stationed in the Fifth Battalion include:
Pvt. Berk Anthony, story writer and animator who worked on nearly all of Disney's characters over a six-year period; Pvt. Rodell Johnson, one of the artists responsible for the antics of Jimminy Cricket in "Pinnochio;" Pvt. Victor Michonski, who spent over two years working on "Fantasia," Disney's most lavish production; Pvt. George Paliwoda, whose artistic efforts included everything from portraying Donald's duckiest moments to creating an earthquake for "Bambi;" Pvt. George Peed, who prepared continuity sketches for "Mickey Mouse" and "Donald Duck" shorts, "Snow White," "The Wind in the Willows," and "Pinnochio." Pvt. Robert Perry, a "Goofy the Dog" artist, also worked on the hilarious mushroom sequence in "Fantasia."
Disney's competition from Leon Schlesinger Productions, creators of "Merry Melodies" and "Porky the Pig," is as intense at Monmouth as in Hollywood.
Pvt. Robert Givens, a story sketch man who helped originate tribulations for "Sniffles the Mouse" and "Bugs Bunny," is now drawing his pay through the Fifth Battalion Headquarters.
Pvt. David Monahan is also from the Schlessinger outfit. He helped Ted Cook prepare his "Ted Cook's Cook Coos" before joining the studio. The Max Fleischer Studios, "Popeye's" masters, are represented by Pvt. Alden Getz, who worked on "Gulliver's Travels" and Betty Boop" shorts in addition to "Popeye" himself.
Approximately a dozen additional animators and story directors have transferred from the Fifth Battalion to the Twentieth Signal Service Company and are at present helping produce training motion pictures at the Training Film Production Laboratory.

Dave Weberman, Man Of A Thousand Voices, Arrives

It wasn't so long ago that the arrival at Fort Monmouth of Pvt. Dave Weberman, Co. E, 5th Slg. Trg. B'n, occurred. Before entering the Army he was teaching Leo Carillo, Jeannette MacDonald, Nelson Eddy and a dozen other Hollywood stars the tricks of voice and acting that had made him one of the country's foremost voice impressionists. That was just after the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studios lured Dave away from the East and took him to Hollywood.
Between courses in the Co. E Schools, he entertains his fellow students with the impersonations that earned him his reputation as The Man of a Thousand Voices." Under his stage name of Danny Webb, Dave has impersonated vocally at various times President Roosevelt, Hitler and Mussolini on "The March of Time"; Ken Murray's Mad Russian"; the little rab[b]it in "Looney Tunes"; and, his favorite role, "Andy Panda" in the famous animated cartoon. His last assignment before entering the service was with Johnny Downs and Mischa Auer in Columbia's "Sing Another Chorus," soon to be released.

The Questioning Horse

There’s some hot Gene Rodemich music (with speak-song lyrics by that raspy voiced Van Beuren guy) in Horse Cops. I wish I knew the music better as I can’t identify the tune.

The cartoon is set around a speak-easy where cats dance, bugs and mice play musical instruments and drinks are untouched on tables because that saves animation. Oscar the police horse pulls one of those old silent cartoon bits I still like. His neck stretches into the club and a question mark forms from his ears.



The Motion Picture Herald of December 5, 1931 opined “An Aesop's fable parodying the raiding of dance halls in the days of the old West.” Old West? With jazz music? And billboards?



John McManus has a credit on this short as well as John Foster. The song “Horses” is all over the sound track. It’s another song you know from old cartoons.



Late note: Rollo Nichols tells me the song is The Man From The South by Rube Bloom and Harry Woods.

Tailing the Penguin

“He’s got m’tail again,” says the guard dog to the viewing audience in the Chilly Willy cartoon I'm Cold.



Here are some of the drawings as the dog tries to extricate itself from the hole in the floor. These are consecutive frames, shot only once.



Tex Avery borrows from himself here. The laconic dog with the accent is taken from his southern wolf character at MGM (both were done by Daws Butler). The gags have a nice flow. Avery handled Chilly Willy very well in the two cartoons he made with the character.

The orchestrations in Clarence Wheeler’s score in this cartoon are really good, especially the selection of solo instruments and the flute when the penguin scurries about. The animation is by Ray Abrams, Don Patterson and La Verne Harding.

Henry Morgan, the Lobster

On came several announcers, proclaiming that they were a Schick Eversharp pen. When the commercial ended, on came Henry Morgan, childishly mimicking that he was a Schick Eversharp pen. Morgan’s audience broke into sustained laughter over the ad-lib.

Morgan hated ridiculous radio advertising which sponsors insisted on, and was prepared to go to any length to show how ridiculous it was. Morgan had a whole fan base that agreed.

One of Morgan’s fans was columnist John Crosby. They were kindred spirits. Crosby had little good to say about the banal, inane and predictable nature of a lot of radio programming. This column comes from June 12, 1946.

Man on a Street Corner
Henry Morgan is one of the strangest phenomena in radio. In a quiet way, he has built up a small band of devoted followers who consider him the greatest man in broadcasting. I know a number of people who keep their radios tuned exclusively to WQXR until 6:45 p. m. Then they switch to Morgan for fifteen minutes and immediately thereafter return to WQXR.
That’s what the Federal Communications Commission would call unbalanced programming, but I can’t persuade these people to do otherwise. And, incidentally, I have several acquaintances who read this column every day but, so far as I know, they never listen to the radio. I think it was Katharine Brush who once remarked that New Yorkers read the book reviews but never read the books. Reading a radio review when you never listen is I suppose just a modern twist to that strange habit.
*    *    *
But let’s get back to Morgan. I hesitate to recommend him because Morgan is a special taste like lobsters. You either love lobsters or you can’t stand them. There is no middle ground on Morgan, either. Many, many persons can’t understand Morgan at all and are at a loss to explain why any one wants to listen to him. In case you never heard him, Morgan just pops on the air and starts talking about anything that’s bothering him at the moment.
“I’ve been worrying about words,” he will say. “People are always getting to a pretty pass. Doesn’t any one ever get to an ugly pass? That’s a fine how-do-you-do. What’s the matter with a fair how-do-you-do? Restaurants always feature prime ribs of beef. What do they do with all the secondary ribs—ship ‘em?”
Whenever he runs down for a moment, Morgan yells to the engineer, who turns on a record, and Morgan has the dizziest collection of records anywhere. You’re likely to hear “The Moonlight Sonata” played on bagpipes.
*    *    *
A moment later Morgan is back to tell you the story of Gilda Thermidor. “Gilda is happy today because her husband, Lieutenant Phosphorus, is coming home with a wonderful brand of volcanic soap which sponsored their marriage. But Lieutenant Phosphorus has picked up a severe case of red rash. What will happen now? Tune in again next week.”
I first heard Morgan years ago when he had a sustaining program at 10 a. m. At that time he used to give a daily weather report, which was sheer wishful thinking. “Weather report—tidal wave,” he would declare hopefully. Morgan had no sponsors then, but he has picked up a great many since then. Too many, in fact. Morgan kids his sponsors, but a commercial is still a commercial, and they chew up too much of his time.
In one respect Morgan is unique in radio. Now and then he simply runs out of things to say. For a minute or two the air is full of lovely silence, and all the vice-presidents of the American Broadcasting Company turn purple at the thought of that precious, wasted time.
“Why don’t you people tune in on C. B. S.?” Morgan will mutter savagely. Remarks like that are not calculated to endear Morgan to the executives of A. B. C. either.
At other times, Morgan is likely to say: “Would you mind just sitting there for ten or fifteen seconds? I’d like to light a cigarette.” And for ten or fifteen seconds nothing comes out of your radio but the sound of a flaring match.
“Now, where were we? Oh, yes, advertising. I think we ought to be grateful for all those advertisers who took ads to tell us how much money they made during the war and are now talking ads attacking the O. P. A. because they can’t make more money.
*    *    *
You have to listen to Morgan for a long time before you discover the sense behind his nonsense. Morgan is a wit with a sharp eye for the ridiculous, but he doesn’t explain his jokes. He expects you to understand them. He recoils from any form of showmanship like a minister from sin. For that very reason Morgan will never be on the top of the Hooper ratings.
The Morgan program, I’m forced to add, is also extremely uneven. Like the little girl in the jingle, when he’s good, he’s very good; when he’s bad, he’s awful. Five times a week is too many times a week to be funny. I wish Morgan would get a full-size show with other entertainers on it which would come on just once a week. I also wish he had one big sponsor instead of a lot of little ones.
If you care to listen, Morgan “will be on the same corner in front of the cigar store at the same time” tonight. The cigar store is WJZ, and the time is 6:45 p. m.

I’ve been trying to post Crosby’s columns beginning at the start of his career reviewing radio shows. Here’s the rest of the week that the Morgan column appeared. June 10, 1946 looks at a D-Day anniversary broadcast on NBC with correspondent John McVane, who later moved over to ABC and was still working for them on radio and TV in the early ‘70s.

The June 11th column reports on both pianist Alec Templeton and the Frank Morgan summer show; yes, the same Frank Morgan who played the title role in The Wizard of Oz.

The June 13th column looks at the husband-wife morning show phenomenon (one that Fred Allen and Tallulah Bankhead ridiculed, prompting Crosby to post chunks of the dialogue in his column). See who Crosby picks as the best of a bad lot on New York radio.

June 14th is about The Incomparable Hildegarde, who was still performing in the 1980s and died at the age of 99. She was once quoted as saying Miss Piggy of the Muppets stole the idea of long gloves from her, though they were part of ladies formal wear long before Hilde tapped a keyboard.

You can click on each column so you can read it better.