Democratic License by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Page 151
Like many of the major stars of this era of radio, Jack Benny remained in firm control of the many programs that bore his name. Although not credited as such, he was both director and head writer of all of his series. This did not mean that he was a tyrant of his productions, rather he was very generous in valuing both his writers and his cast, most of whom were with him until the end of his radio career. This generosity extended to allowing cast members and guest stars to have the best lines.
Jack often said that it didn't matter who got the laughs, as long as the show was funny.
This firm control even extended to the commercial breaks on his programs. On “The Lucky Strike Program,” for example, Jack would
allow the advertisers to write the opening and closing spots, but insisted that his own writers be the ones to write the middle commercial, leading to many of the program's best segments.
Jack Benny’s overall approach was quite innovative despite being post-modern as it took as its premise from characters on a reality radio show, which in itself is a form of fiction posing as truth. He spins that story with vivid and overpowering sensory images, delves deep into the psyche of the protagonist, and leaves the listener laughing while contemplating life meanings and how one sees oneself. Besides appearing in his own series, Jack Benny was a much sought after guest on other radio shows. He made many appearances on such popular anthology programs as “The Screen Guild Theater,” “Lux Radio Theater,” and
“Suspense,” and even recreated his “The Horn Blows at Midnight,”
a better story than he ever let on, on “Ford Theater.”
Some of Jack's most notorious appearances were in name only, on
“The Fred Allen Show.” Jack Benny and Fred Allen had a feud that ran for almost two decades, each star mercilessly taunting the other on the air. In reality, this was for comedic purposes only; off air Benny and Allen were friends with the utmost mutual respect.
In his private life, Jack Benny could not have been any more the opposite of his on air persona. He was a generous, thoughtful man.
Now, from a more serious and mysterious side of old time radio we bring you Episode Seven of “Sam Spade and the Black Mask,”
first aired on July 23, 1932.
Exiting the “lunch” counter area, Sam Spade was in the section which sold tropical fish. He always hated this area, as the store workers always removed a few of the fish from the tank, and placed them in plastic bags full of water. This didn’t seem to serve any purpose, didn’t look like it did any wonders for the trapped fish, and he didn’t even want to think about the sick predators with needles, though he had seen their work two or three times, and found it a difficult image to forget.
Sam scooted through the long, straight aisles of the store cursorily viewing the myriad of items for sale, each section presided over by an attendant who with head down was fussing with something that was ostensibly in need of some altering
“enhancement,” more likely a function of their down-to-earth wish to appear as busy to the strict, self-important floorwalker, who aggrandized his position when he constantly and
smugly considered his ambulatory guard duty job as being part of upper management.
Sam went to the toy section. He found that there were still roscoes which shot soft plastic bullets and/or caps, dolls for girls with outfits ranging from raggedy to regal; the dolls that is, marbles, games and puzzles of all sorts, though more or less disproportionately evocative of war, Little Golden Books, models to be assembled with glue and finished with decals, Disney puppets, building blocks, Lincoln logs, Mr. Potato Head, tin soldiers, slinkies, and fake dough; the latter a wad that could choke a scientifically rendered image of a sharp toothed tyrannosaurus rex, yours for a real buffalo or Jefferson nickel.
That seemed a better deal than was available anywhere else, but Sam had a soft spot for the Kentucky Derby horse racing game, which was now still available, but at an inflated price of nineteen cents. He lingered over the names of the all-time greats who were still competing for every kid whose parents had that nineteen cents; Whirlaway, Gallant Fox, Citation, Seabiscuit, Assault, Man O’ War, Sir Barton, and Count Fleet. He wondered if he should open the unsealed box. He looked around furtively, didn’t see anyone watching him, and lifted the lid, put the bangtails at the starting gate, and flicked the arrow.
The arrow whirred as it spun around the wheel just the opposite of what they do roulette. It stopped on his favorite, Whirlaway, just as it consistently did when Sam was a three foot tall fan of the triple Crown winner. He smiled, and put the lid back on before anyone could see him playing “baby” games, content that some things never change.
He exited Woolworth’s and was greeted by the waves of heat emanating from the shrill rays of the insistent, sweltering sun, which made him momentarily consider the purchases of five and dime shades and A-shirts.
The expansive sizes and purposes of the shop windows gradually expanded as he took it on the arches in an uptown direction.
Initially, narrow windows provided light and limited display space for craftsmen and direct importers. Silversmiths displayed their handmade goods next to pieces they purchased on trips to Europe and the Northeast. Early china importers on the street filled their windows with colorful transfer printed earthenware and sleek porcelain dishes that had just arrived on trucks from New York City; and ships from Staffordshire, England; and Le Havre, France.
Leaded windows looked in on traditionally high end furniture stores, evocative of a time passed which focussed on quality,
still popular with those who could afford it. Pilgrim, Queen Anne, Chippendale, Sheraton, Heppelwhite, and some of the Empire, that crafted before it got degraded and machined, still reigned in glory inside, defiant of the inferior succeeding forms. In other emporiums, light reflected from huge pier mirrors, silk curtains, and polished rosewood, cherry, and mahogany furniture; some oak, walnut, and pine creeping in.
Upholstery fabrics, mirrors, and miscellaneous “fancy goods”
were sold to accompany elaborate and highly ornamented furniture in the earliest of the many Victorian styles, available at reasonable prices.
Large plate glass shop windows along parts of Broadway were dedicated to glittering luxuries. Local newspapers reported on the diamond jewelry, marble statues, regulated clocks, patented pistols, and specialty china and silver services that filled the best windows. Retailers competed with one another to have the most impressive objects on display. When one jeweler displayed a miniature fire engine as a prize for a local fair, another made a true to life, silver and gold model of one of the mule drawn streetcars that once traveled up and down Broadway.
Since the turn of the twentieth century, large department stores became the anchors of the shopping district on Broadway. They created lifelike tableaus in their windows, complete with
mannequins, foliage, and taxidermy animals. Illuminated by electricity instead of sunlight, these windows illustrated the life of luxury that was becoming increasingly affordable for many. The shop windows of Bayway Town were designed to spark viewers’ imaginations and encourage them to open their purses.
Sam was so sparked, but carried no purse. He crossed to the south, non-Paramount side of the street, where the retail stores were of the more “affordable” variety. “John’s Bargain Store”
stood out, literally so, as John had so much merchandise that the bargains spilled into bins which occupied the concrete sidewalk. “ALL SALES FINAL; NO RETURNS,” peeped its message in rather fine print above the cash register, just as it did on customer sales receipts. Seconds and/or irregulars were not marked as such. “John” Merrill Garfunkel purchased them at manufacturer’s closeouts for next to nothing, and if he sold one quarter of what he purchased he was in the chump change already.
He made no differentiation between goods, and he purchased whatever he could get cheap, the items ranging from leaky garden hoses to tape recorders which used a tape size which no longer was made to underwear with stretched out elastic. The store really belonged in a dinge area, but even after a bad experience, people would come back, expecting next time to be different at an affordable price.
Democratic License