NRR Project: The Fred Allen Show (Oct. 7, 1945)

 

NRR Project: The Fred Allen Show

NBC Radio

Broadcast Oct. 7, 1945

30 min.

Fred Allen (1894-1956) was the funniest man in radio.

Jack Benny is the best-remembered of the radio comedians, but he was served by a staff of writers. For nearly 20 years, the dough-faced Fred Allen wrote, edited, and produced a comedy show that was, for a time, the highest-rated comedy program on the air.

Fred Allen was Boston-born, under the name of John F. Sullivan. He grew up hard, coming from an impoverished background and going to work at an early age. His workplace was an ideal springboard – it was a library. There he found a book on juggling, and taught himself how to do it.

Years of work in vaudeville followed. Allen gravitated to comedy, and soon was billing himself as “Freddy James, the World’s Worst Juggler.” Allen’s sharp, incisive wit propelled him onto Broadway, where he worked his way up to starring roles in the comedy revues of the day.

Finally, in 1933 radio came calling. For nine years, Allen created an hour-long comedy show once a week – a monumental task that found him working 12-hour days and 80-hour weeks. Gradually, he built up a cadre of talented voice actors who could handle any verbal challenge.

Beginning in December 1942, Allen created the popular “Allen’s Alley” segment, in which he went from door to door to ask various eccentrics about a topic of the day. Minerva Pious played Mrs. Nussbaum, a Jewish New Yorker; Parker Fennelly played Titus Moody, a dour New Englander. Alan Reed, later the voice of Fred Flintstone, played poet Falstaff Openshaw.

Also in 1942, the sponsors and NBC cut Allen’s show from an hour to a half-hour, to Allen’s dismay despite saving Allen from the undue stress of producing so much material a week. In this new format, the jokes came fast and thick; Allen’s comedic momentum was unrivaled. He hosted celebrity guests and put them through their comedic paces, making fun of hoary old entertainment cliches, other radio programs, and more.

Allen took 1944 off due to hypertension. He returned in the fall of 1945, and experienced his greatest period of success. Not only average listeners but other comedians would tune in to enjoy his work. His gift for improvisation perked up many a show, and sometimes led to his show running long and getting cut off. This and his on-air antipathy towards NBC’s executives got him in hot water time and again.

In the Oct. 7, 1945 broadcast, Fred welcomed ventriloquist Edgar Bergen and his dummy Charlie McCarthy to the program. They essayed a skit in which Charlie is set to leave Bergen, and he and Fred come up with a corny act with which to break back into vaudeville. They fail spectacularly, and Allen is offered a job -- without Charlie. He dumps him, and Charlie is reduced to begging Bergen for his job back.

The broadcast selected by the National Recording Registry features the debut in Allen’s Alley of Senator Claghorn, voiced by announcer Kenny Delmar. The senator was from the Deep South – “we call people from Alabama Yankees!” he proclaimed. Given to repeating himself and riding over Allen, the brash and daffy politician was a big hit.

In the end, the encroachments of television and the success of radio quiz shows destroyed his ratings. Additionally, his hypertension returned. After 1949, he would no longer hold a position on the radio dial.

Listening to his entire run of preserved shows is a pleasure and an education.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Next time: Merle Travis’ Folk Songs of the Hills.

NRR Project: 'On a Note of Triumph' (May 8, 1945)

 

NRR Project: “On a Note of Triumph”

Written, produced, and directed by Norman Corwin

CBS Radio

Broadcast May 8, 1945

57:06

This recording represents two apogees. It denotes the high-water mark of the American century, and it stands as the one of the last great works of famed radio producer, director, and writer Norman Corwin.

The defeat of Nazi Germany on May 8, 1945 was an immensely emotional moment. Six years of war had devastated Europe and turned the United States from an isolated, sleeping giant into a world power crusading for democracy. The victory affirmed our values – freedom, inclusion, diversity, tolerance – and set these principles out as our guiding philosophy, our hope for the future of the world.

Corwin was an eloquent recorder of the American experience. In his many broadcasts he articulated contemporary wisdom, as we heard in his landmark “We Hold These Truths,” which you can read about here.

“On a Note of Triumph” is a companion piece. It shouts to the world our glee at finally beating Hitler and his rotten gang of criminals and psychopaths. It articulates our reasons for fighting, describes the good that is to come, and asks questions about the struggle and our victory.

Corwin constructs here a complex tapestry of voices, led by the narration of Martin Gabel. The great Bernard Herrmann, who got his start with radio’s Mercury Theatre, provides a stunning score.

“So they’ve given up! They’re finally done in and the rat is dead in an alley back of the Wilhelmstrasse. Take a bow, G.I.! Take a bow, little guy! The superman of tomorrow lies dead at the feet of you common men of this afternoon! This is it, kid! This is the day! . . . You had what it took and you gave it . . . seems like free men have done it again!”

The show goes on to outline the general rejoicing resounding around the world. The tone is grandiose, bombastic, naïve, evangelical – reflecting the feeling pervasive in the country.

“Somehow the decadent democracies, the bumbling Bolsheviks, the Saxon softies, were tougher in the end than the brown-shirt bully boys. And smarter too, for without whipping a priest, burning a book, or slugging a Jew, without corralling a girl in a brothel or bleeding a child for plasma, far-flung, ordinary men, unspectacular but free, rousing out of their habits and their homes, got up early one morning, flexed their muscles, learned as amateurs the manual of arms, and set across across perilous plains and oceans to whop the bejeepers out of the professionals.”

What follows, exuberantly, is a paean to the victors and a final, scornful analysis of the sins of the enemy. It recites the crimes of the Nazis, and holds up their actions to contempt. Corwin definitively differentiates the principles of the victors from the values of the defeated. Germany is thoroughly mocked for its imperial ambitions and its insensate cruelties.

And it asks questions – “Who did we beat? How much did it cost to beat him? What did we learn? What do we do know now that we didn’t know before? What will we do now? Could it all happen again?”

The broadcast then purports to answer these questions. Given the fact that the Allies were still at war with Japan, the job is seen as unfinished and vigilance and patience is counseled. Isolation is scorned and international cooperation is promoted. The broadcast ends with hope for the future.

America had not yet dropped its problematic atomic bombs on the enemy. For a couple of months, America could see itself as the embodiment of virtue. Corwin’s work celebrates that exuberant belief in the American way, and the dream of universal brotherhood.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Fred Allen Show.

NRR Project: 'Tubby the Tuba' (1950)

 

NRR Project: “Tubby the Tuba”

Music: George Kleinsinger; words: Paul Tripp

Narrated by Victor Jory

Recorded 1945

11:50

This pleasant entry is masterfully written about by Cary O’Dell at the National Recording Registry – you can read that here.

The idea of creating pedagogical compositions to familiarize children with musical instruments is not new. Prokofiev did it with Peter and the Wolf; Benjamin Britten would do it later with his Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra. This cheerful and chipper story is meant to be a non-intimidating introduction to the orchestra.

It succeeds in the context of a modern fairy tale, written in imitation of Andersen’s Ugly Duckling. Tubby the Tuba is tired of playing just accompaniment and wants to play a melody of his own. He is mocked for this. Disconsolate, he goes to a river – and there finds a frog who also feels left out musically. Together, they create a basso melody that Tubby then takes back to the orchestra.

Fortunately, the great conductor Pizzicato recognizes the value of Tubby’s tune, and the other instruments join in and fill out the orchestration. Everyone is happy! Tubby the Tuba has been recorded many times since, but here is the original rendition, featuring the narration of character actor Victor Jory.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Next time: On a Note of Triumph.

NRR Project: Proceedings of the United Nations Conference on International Organization (April 25 - June 26, 1945)

 

NRR Project: Proceedings of the United Nations Conference on International Organization

Recorded April 25 to June 26, 1945

These recordings are another resource that is on file but not readily available to the public. First, read Brandon Burke’s excellent essay on this entry at the National Recording Registry.

As World War II drew to a close, the victors once again strove to create a governing body for all the nations of the world. This had been attempted previously, with the League of Nations after World War I , but that organization proved ineffective. Now the Allies convened in San Francisco in 1945 to found the United Nations.

NBC Radio covered the proceedings, and the audio was recorded onto disc and stored for future reference. The conferrals are all there for the scholar to examine.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Next time: Tubby the Tuba.

NRR Project: Arthur Godfrey broadcasts FDR's funeral procession (April 14, 1945)

 

NRR Project: The funeral of Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Broadcast April 14, 1945

 Before everyone asked where you were when Kennedy was shot, they asked you where you were when you found out that Roosevelt died.

He was my father’s President. From two years before his birth to the age of 12, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was in his White House. He governed enthusiastically, dynamically, some say with a heavy-handed imperiousness. Het got us through the Depression, and largely through World War II. His mythic weight, multiplied by his radio addresses and public speeches, marked him as an articulate and thoughtful President.

That being said, I can’t access the recording involved. Arthur Godfrey was the morning guy at the CBS radio affiliate WJSV, in Washington, D.C.  (Read about Godfrey’s performance on the full day of WJSV recording in possession of the Registry essay I wrote.)

Godfrey, using his unique technique of relaxed folksiness and emotional honesty, described Roosevelt’s funeral procession from the top of a nearby bank building. Godfrey broke down, and switched the show back to the studio. Read Christopher H. Sterling’s account of it here.

It was a genuinely moving tribute to one of the Twentieth Century’s essential individuals. Godfrey’s broadcast elevated him to star status.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Next time: Proceedings of the United Nations Conference on International Organization.

NRR Project: 'The Guiding Light' (Nov. 22, 1945)

 

Irna Phillips

NRR Project: “The Guiding Light”

Created by Irna Phillips and Emmons Carlson

Broadcast Nov. 22, 1945

14 min.

It was the longest-running scripted show in electric media’s history. This soap opera, 15 minutes Monday through Friday, debuted on NBC Radio on January 5, 1937. It moved to CBS Radio in 1947, continuing even after the TV version began its broadcast on June 30, 1952. (For four years, the performers did it twice: once for the microphone, once for the camera.) The video incarnation lasted until Sept. 18, 2009.

It is difficult to conceive how prevalent the soap opera has been, from its beginning in early network radio. It was the great progenitor, Irna Phillips, who launched the genre with Painted Dreams in 1930. Phillips would create many more, including this show, As the World Turns and Another World. She was a genius at spawning a drama that would move forward with various and interconnecting emotional dramas, eking out mileage from conflicts, misunderstanding, and the woes of the fated, that were designed to amuse bored housewives during the day.

Looking at a schedule of daily broadcasts, it is instructive to see that soaps dominate the hours between the morning news and the afternoon kids’ shows. Some titles: Adopted Daughter, Backstage Wife, John’s Other Wife, Life Can Be Beautiful, Myrt and Marge, The Strange Romance of Evelyn Winters.

Phillips produced her own stuff, then sold it to sponsors and the networks. She somehow wrote (or rather dictated) 30,000 words a week, composing multiple series simultaneously, keeping things clear with charts. For a time, she had the inhabitants of three different soaps – Guiding Light, The Woman in White, and Today’s Children – interpenetrate each others’ stories.

At the show’s beginning, its protagonist was Rev. John Ruthledge, who ministered to the folk of “Five Points” in Chicago. He and his daughter Mary (the great Mercedes McCambridge) interacted with the parish, and the usual heavy drama ensued, year after year, effortlessly making the move to television.

Karen Fishman’s story about this entry is top-notch and must be referred to. She has heard the actual episode and I have not. It takes the form of a Thanksgiving sermon, the first since the end of the war. Fishman quotes from it extensively: it is well worth a read. The gist of it is the reaffirmation of the spirit of brotherhood in mankind. Such noble sentiments are true and good, even if unenforceable. However, it reflects a time during which America was seen as the moral conscience of the world, and could best deliver salvation thereunto through democracy and capitalism. We were sick of war; we really wanted the unification of the human race (well, except for with the godless Communists -- the Cold War was already brewing).

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Next time: F.D.R.’s funeral.

NRR Project: Fiorello LaGuardia reads the comics (July 8, 1945)

 

NRR Project: Fiorello LaGuardia reads the comics

Broadcast July 8, 1945

Go to Cary O’Dell’s explanatory essay for not only an extensive outline of this entry but a look at the political uses of radio broadcasting during the period.

Fiorello LaGuardia (1882-1947) was an extraordinary politician who is most famous for serving as the mayor of New York City from 1934 to 1946. He was progressive, reform-minded, gregarious, a natural and ebullient communicator.

Growing up, he worked all kinds of jobs. He earned a law degree and began to work in the system. He was the deputy attorney general of the state, and went on to serve as a Congressman, He won the mayoral election and got to work.

He was a little dynamo, a short, squat figure with tons of energy. He got the city back on its feet, helped the poor, improved the city’s infrastructure. He was an interventionist – he outlawed burlesque houses, pinball machines. When Joe Simon and Jack Kirby were threatened by American Nazis over their creation of comic-book hero Captain America, LaGuardia provided protection for them.

Most memorably though it is his widely publicized reading of the comics to New York City’s children (over New York City’s radio station, WNYC) that he is remembered for. The reason for this was a strike by newspaper delivery personnel. LaGuardia disapproved; his solution to the deprivation of the funny papers to the children of the city was simple and direct – he read them to the kids.

Listening to an excerpt, it is clear LaGuardia was a practiced showman. With great enthusiasm he describes the panels from the cartoons and reads the dialogue, interrupting to editorialize about how a life in crime results in misery.

For three weeks, LaGuardia kept it up. And it was a political stunt, sure, another platform for the mayor to direct his beliefs through. But he was engaging.

The strike ended. Things got back to normal. But many would remember the chipper voice of New York’s “Little Flower” mayor breathlessly updating us to the status of Dick Tracy.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Next time: The Guiding Light.’