“Behind the Mic,” a radio series whose message was to demystify the medium itself, devoted its June 29, 1941, episode to the Associated Press, the newspaper co-op that had gradually come around to the idea of radio news.
The program includes mini-dramas of scenes from AP history, including the 1848 meeting of usually rival New York editors that formed the association to get some leverage over another “new media,” the telegraph companies.
The 19th century hazards of journalism portrayed on the program range from misreading semaphore signals to getting the assignment to cover General Custer at the Little Big Horn — and dying at his side.
We hear another AP man advising Pancho Villa to delay an attack until after the baseball World Series if he wanted to get on the front page of American newspapers. He did.
The anecdotes, dramatized from a history of the Associated Press, are delivered in rapid-fire, but provide no discussion of how the newspaper based service came around to the idea of providing news to radio stations.
Kent Cooper, general manager of the AP is interviewed on issues like the size of the association (1,400 American newspapers, 7,500 correspondents), arrangements for war coverage, and the latest news technology, one that it goes without saying would not be much use on radio — the AP wirephoto.
The program closes with an NBC announcer reading the latest AP war news, to the accompaniment of clattering teletypes, and the newscast ends with an important phrase: “For further details, see your local newspaper,” a clear sign that by World War II the newspapers, their wire services, and the New Medium of radio had found ways to co-exist.
The witty — if a bit prone to puns and quotations — college president on “Halls of Ivy” had more than one anxious moment over campus news media, but supported the freedom of the press in good spirits, which must have been acceptable to the program’s Schlitz Beer sponsor.
The second episode of the series, starring Ronald Colman and Benita Hume Colman as President & Mrs. Hall of Ivy College, featured a student newspaper editorial that offended his nemesis, the chairman of the board of governors, so much that he wanted the editor expelled.
Student Editorial, Jan. 13, 1950.
“A millenium is at hand, someone has finally read an editorial in an American newspaper!” — the student editor.
A year later, the same trustee went after the anthropology department as well as a student anthropologist author. President Hall disagreed with the article… a critique of campus life… but supported it on free speech principles, quoting Sinclair Lewis. The trustee was more concerned with the article’s impact on a football star who had taken the article to heart and was questioning his dedication to the sport.
Student Editorial in the Ivy Bull, Oct. 10, 1951.
“We can discuss the article in The Bull and the possible bull in the article…” — President Hall, inviting student author to dinner.
From the intellectual ramparts of anthropology, the Halls moved on in 1952 to investigate a campus gossip column of the air. It’s not a spoiler to reveal that the trustee chairman is in the middle again, but the Halls survive nicely. And, as Hall points out, the young woman reporter does stick to her facts. He quotes Sheridan about that, but also manages to mention one of my favorite oldtime newspaper columnists.
Voice of the Ivy Vine, Feb. 20, 1952.
“What the late Don Marquis called ‘stroking a cliche until it purrs like an epigram.'” — Hall quoting the creator of “Archie & Mehitabel.”
In addition to the Peabody Award winning 1950-52 radio series, more than 100 episodes, the Colmans also brought the series to television in 1954-55, which provided the college gate image at the top of this page as well as this brief clip at YouTube.
While he never went to college himself, Don Quinn, creator of the campus-based radio program, gave a revealing interview about it while on vacation in Hawaii, which has been archived at YouTube. Listen for a tip-of-the-hat to his wife, a Northwestern University journalism school grad. Here it is:
“What a story! Boy this is great!” — reporter Jimmy Gifford
Here’s a mystery from 1932, the days when radio drama was relatively new, when flying the air mail was still an adventure, and so was newspaper reporting.
The broadcast presentation on these original syndication company transcription discs includes no opening title or theme music, just the buzz of an airmail plane and some filler music that presumably could be covered by a local announcer introducing the program. The cast and crew are never identified.
The plot: Irene DelRoy, “clever girl operative of the Department of Justice,” arrives to investigate three mysterious crashes of a private contractor’s airplanes carrying mail and government securities.
Reporter Jimmy Gifford of The Star, who we learn has a romantic history with agent DelRoy, is introduced in the second episode “Andrews Accused,” making a good showing as an investigator himself. Irene and Jimmy’s cop-and-reporter buddy-romance is a mirror image of the”Torchy Blane” reporter-and-cop movie serials, but not played for cuteness and laughs. In a later episode, Jimmy even carries a gun, and at one point Irene tells him to be prepared to shoot-to-kill.
Later in the Air Mail Mystery, Irene mentions that she and Jimmy have worked together before, and tells others that unlike some other reporters, he can be trusted. That kind of camaraderie might be closer than most editors would like to hear about, but it makes me wonder if there were plans for more Irene-and-Jimmy stories. So far I have found no information about whether this one 13-episode serial, which could have run daily for two weeks or so, was part of plans for a continuing series back in 1932.
Here is Jimmy, making his appearance in episode 2…
The third episode, “At the Crash,” finds newshawk Gifford asking more solid questions and unmasking an undercover federal agent working for Irene. (Later, I think he’s the one who produces a whiskey flask right when needed to help revive a tear-gas victim. Some reporter stereotypes are forever, I guess.)
Before the end of the tale, Gifford is being a daredevil, first in a gunfight, then risking his life flying after a mysterious plane on his own…
(It’s interesting that in 1930s fiction, newspaper reporters were sometimes able to fly their own planes. In one of the first Superman radio adventures, Clark Kent piloted a plane on a flying rescue when he was still keeping the existence of Superman a secret. And I remember Lois Lane donning a leather flying helmet and taking off on a solo flight to track down the bad guy in one of the early Superman cartoons.)
Back to the Air Mail Mystery, even with just 12 episodes, the story is very listenable, well-acted and reasonably mysterious. The summaries at the beginnings of the episodes make it easy enough to follow the tale if you weren’t paying close attention, or without the missing chapter seven.
I’ve already updated this post once, and will do it again if I find more information about this intriguing series.
Many thanks to the Old Time Radio Researchers group and Jerry Haendiges of otrsite.com, who digitized transcription discs of the series and provided them to the group for uploading to the Internet Archive by the group’s Web coordinator Paul Kornman.
Here it is by “Best Plays,” from July 1852, with Donald Cook as theater critic Mortimer Brewster, and Boris Karloff, from the original Broadway cast, as family psychopath Jonathan Brewster. (Capra had Cary Grant as Mortimer and settled for Raymond Massey as Jonathan, but kept the original play’s line saying Jonathan “looked like Boris Karloff.”)
While they may not be “journalists” in a hard news sense of the word, some of them do work for newspapers, as appears to be the case here. Mortimer Brewster says he is off to “cover a play,” so he might consider himself a reporter, even if his powers of observation and deduction leave much to be desired.
And his dedication to his craft gets shaky when he discovers that his aunties have a cadaver in the window seat. Perhaps he does sound like a newspaperman, when in an attempt to deal with the crisis at home, he tries to find a last-minute substitute to review the play.
His suggested candidates include an office-boy and one of the printers at the newspaper… with a joke that his substitute might turn into another John Chapman — the New York Daily News critic who was the host of “Best Plays.”
(If an audio player is not visible, click the program name above to download or stream an mp3 from the Internet Archive.)
“America’s most modern fashion magazine,” complete with background clicking typewriters, is the scene of the story “Lady in the Dark.” (I stumbled on it earlier this week while researching the much different drama “Lady in the Lake.”) Long before “The Devil Wears Prada,” this 1940s Broadway musical explored the pressures of the fashion magazine business and a woman’s career decisions — enough to drive an executive editor to a psychiatrist.
You can guess what the conventional Hollywood psychiatric diagnosis for a powerful woman executive was back then. If I were teaching, this period romance would be great for class discussion. The “business woman” versus “glamour girl” costume changes in the movie may tell more of the story on screen than the songs and dialogue did on radio. Liza, the editor, and business manager Charlie (who wants her job) are the main characters… along with the older publisher and a handsome movie star who both want to marry her.
She’s indecisive about romance and about what to put on the next magazine cover, and “in the dark” on the psychiatric couch, sorting out what she really wants in life.
“You married that desk of yours years ago and you’re never going to get a divorce,” says Charlie, who calls her Boss Lady. “You’ll have magazines instead of babies.”
So Charlie wants to run things. The movie star seems to want her as his own boss lady, while the psychiatrist suggests she wants to marry her publisher as a father figure. Maybe a Psych 101 class should be a prerequisite for that class discussion. Liza’s preparing a spring Easter issue and Charlie wants to give it a Circus theme to sell more ads. That editorial decision could be worth some analysis, when Charlie appears in one of her dreams as a ringmaster…
In Technicolor, her psychiatric dream-analysis led to costume-fantasy musical production numbers that were probably the best thing about the movie, but not the most radio-adaptable feature. Lux Radio Theater tried twice, in 1945 “Lady in the Dark” with movie version stars Ginger Rogers and Ray Milland, and again with Judy Garland and John Lund in 1953. (That MP3 unfortunately is archived with the first half of the program missing.)
In the film, the circus dream includes “The Saga of Jenny” song and dance sequence in extravagant circus costume, a hint of change from editor Liza’s usual demure business dress.
For some hint of the role of costumes (and Ginger Rogers’ legs) played in promotion of the film, see the IMDB image archive.
Theatre Guild on the Air also produced a radio adaptation of the play, in 1947 with Gertrude Lawrence, star of the original Broadway show, and a useful technique of having the psychoanalyst’s description set the stage and transition more smoothly into the dream-musical sequences.
Here’s what we have of the Judy Garland Lux version…
That’s enough of an excuse for me to include the story here today, in a blog ostensibly discussing the portrayal of journalists in radio drama. We don’t get to hear much from the reporter, but he delivers the information needed at a key point in the case. Speed, efficiency and facts, what more do you want from a reporter?!
A lot of radio stories throw reporters fully into the role of detective, or have detectives impersonate reporters to get information… Or have detectives investigate reporters getting killed — or, less often, killing someone. It’s enough to have one just getting some for a change and then disappearing out of the story without as much as a byline.
Another thing reporters and detectives have in common, besides working on holidays, is that the daily job of drumming up facts can convince them they have enough of a story to twist some of those facts into a semi-autobiographical novel and maybe make a little more money. And that gets us back to The Lady in the Lake.
In this Raymond Chandler novel, detective Philip Marlowe has decided to write a detective novel. The first femme fatale is the publisher’s agent… who offers to buy the novel, but also wants to hire him to investigate the disappearance of her boss’s wife. He suspects that she has her cap set for the millionaire publisher.
The hour-long Lux Radio Theatre production stars Robert Montgomery and Audrey Totter, both from the original 1947 motion picture. ( IMDB Lady in the Lake page ) In an interesting twist, the Lloyd Nolan bad-cop role in the movie is played in the radio adaptation by Gerald Mohr, who later in 1948 got to play Philip Marlowe as star of his own radio series. It must have been challenging to deliver the Raymond Chandler style detective story complexity in a half hour weekly format. Lady in the Lake has enough plot twists to fill the Lux hour.
It will be interesting to see Audrey Totter in the film version, which is available on Turner Classic Movies. It may have been more difficult to convey the different aspects of her character in a voice-only role.
I think Montgomery does a respectable job, functioning as both hero and narrator, although sometimes I got the feeling he was channeling Bogart.
As usual, the audio file playable above is from the collection of the Old Time Radio Researchers group, stored at the Internet Archive. I have had a few articles published in the group’s newsletter, and may compile my last few Philip Marlowe posts into another one. Browse back through the blog for a couple of examples of the half hour Adventures of Philip Marlowe radio show, on those occasions when he ran into newspaper folk, for better or worse.
Detective Philip Marlowe meets a whole Hollywood trade paper crew in “The Green Flame” from March 1949 …
It’s a colorful tale. We get matches that burn with a green flame, a note in blue wax pencil, and various red herrings.
The opening blurb mentions a “ghostwriter with ambition,” but that didn’t make me think newspaper. However, the detective’s client proved to be the publisher of a movie industry daily paper… making this the third Marlowe episode I have encountered with journalists in the plot, although not necessarily as a hero.
The publisher offers the detective five times his usual salary to fight a libel suit, so this is detective in the journalistic role of fact-checker instead of the more common radio story where a reporter gets to be a detective. The publisher also owns six screen magazines and a radio station — Quite the media mogul!
The “ghost writer” phrase doesn’t just have the usual meaning … The gossip columnist who wrote the allegedly libelous story has died of a stroke overnight while his column was in the mail.
Marlowe’s assignment is to find the ghostly columnist’s source and prove the story was true.
The columnist did have a less literal ghost writer, a “legman” who along with fact-gathering claims to have written a lot of the columns, including that last one, except for the offensive item.
We also meet the fast-talking editor of the newspaper, “anybody’s Napoleon,” says the publisher, who apparently trusts him.
The columnist’s home holds clues to his career, an autographed photo of Teddy Roosevelt, a 20-year-old tarnished loving cup for excellence in reporting, and a tip about a fiery redhead who might be the story’s anonymous source.
She’s the actor’s ex-wife and the essential femme fatale for this radio noir half-hour, which sadly has some shaky acting, and only a few passages of faux Raymond Chandler writing. (“You handle a spiked heel like Babe Ruth handled a bat.”) We don’t even get a description of the lady publisher, except that she doesn’t like cigars, thinks her gossip columnist was “a thorough man and never heard of the word ‘rumor,'” and that she is old enough to call Marlowe “boy.”
The “Green Flame” of the title is a nightclub, and one of its matchbooks is the big clue. And although the columnist appears to have died of natural causes, of course there’s a murder and the threat of another to complicate matters.
The main “Newspaper Heroes on the Air” messages here are that publishers weren’t always men (even in the Truman years), gossip columnists weren’t always rumour-mongers, and maybe journalists weren’t always heroes, despite the title of this blog.
Newspaper movie fan trivia: actress Fay Baker, who I thought played the publisher here, was in the journalism classic Deadline USA with Humphrey Bogart — but as one of the deceased publisher’s alienated daughters who sell the newspaper out from under editor Bogart.
However, after looking up both actresses in the RadioGoldIndex and Internet Movie Database, I think Baker played the redhead and the publisher was the older actress, Myra Marsh, better known for playing the mother of the teenage lead in the series “A Date with Judy,” which I will have to go listen to to be sure.
Oh, look, in one of the first episodes I listened to, Judy got to interview movie star Charles Boyer for the school newspaper! I do find journalism plots everywhere. It’s a wonder she got her article written for all the eyelash fluttering, but it’s a charming mistaken identity tale from 1945, when having a non-celebrity character from France also made this a wartime refugee-immigration story.