Collector’s Corner (Free MP3 Downloads) • Some Early February Additions — Collins & Harlan, Van Eps Banjo Orchestra, Sammy Stewart’s Orchestra, Lottie Kimbrough, Hayes & Prater, Seven Gallon Jug Band

Collector’s Corner (Free MP3 Downloads) • Some Early February Additions
Collins & Harlan, Van Eps Banjo Orchestra, Sammy Stewart’s Orchestra, Lottie Kimbrough, Hayes & Prater, Seven Gallon Jug Band

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The past few weeks have seen a real hodge-podge come in, everything from the sublime to the ridiculous. Here are a few new favorite additions to the collection, for your enjoyment:

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ARTHUR COLLINS & BYRON G. HARLAN: Cohan’s Rag Babe  (E–)

New York: c. May 1908
Columbia A583 (mx. 3906 – 2)
With studio orchestra (probably Charles A. Prince, director)

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VAN EPS BANJO ORCHESTRA: Old Folks Rag  (E)

New York: September 25, 1914
Columbia A5618 (mx. 37042 – 2)
Fred Van Eps (banjo); others unlisted in the Columbia files.

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SAMMY STEWART & HIS ORCHESTRA: Copenhagen  (EE–)

Chicago: c. September 1924
Paramount 20359 (mx. 1891 – 1)

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LOTTIE KIMBROUGH (BEAMAN) (as LOTTIE EVERSON): Rolling Log Blues  (V++)

Richmond, IN: August 21, 1928
Champion 15636  (mx. GE 14162)
The Gennett matrix ledger states, “Use plain [take].” The guitarist is not identified.

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NAP HAYES & MATTHEW PRATER: Nothin’ Doin’  (V++)

Memphis: February 15, 1928
Okeh 45231 (mx. W 400243 – B)

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NAP HAYES & MATTHEW PRATER: Somethin’ Doin’  (V+)

Memphis: February 15, 1928
Okeh 45231 (mx. W 400241 – B)

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SEVEN GALLON JUG BAND: What If I Do  (E–)

New York: December 6, 1929
Columbia 2087-D (mx. W 149691 – 3)

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SEVEN GALLON JUG BAND: Wipe ’Em Off  (E–)

New York: January 3, 1930­
Columbia 2087-D (mx. W 149690 – 6)
No personnel listed in the Columbia files, other than Clarence Williams.

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The James A. Drake Interviews • Gus Haenschen: The Radio Years — Part 4 (Conclusion)

The James A. Drake Interviews
Walter Gustave (Gus) Haenschen:
The Radio Years — Part 4 (Conclusion)

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In this final segment of The Radio Years, Gus Haenschen recalls his later experiences in radio and the changes that took place as television came upon the scene.

Previous Installments in the
Gus Haenschen Series:

Brunswick Years – Part 1  |  Brunswick Years – Part 2
Brunswick Years – Part 3  |  Brunswick Years – Part 4
Radio Years – Part 1  |  Radio Years – Part 2
Radio Years – Part 3

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About the music programs you were responsible for, I’m inclined to begin by asking you what the Hummerts’ fascination with Thomas L. Thomas stemmed from.

You would have to have known Thomas to understand that. If you have ever seen film of him, you’d understand it because he was a handsome man, very engaging, a first-rate musician, and very, very easy to work with.

 

But his voice, to my ears, is small and his tone is more of a lyric tenor than a baritone.

It wasn’t as small as you might think. His voice carried very well, even in a large venue. That didn’t matter on radio, of course, but when we were on tour and were singing in armories, his voice carried very well. And he could sing anything—he had a very wide repertoire—so if he sang a folk ballad, it would sound like a folk ballad, and if he sang a song from a Jerome Kern musical, it would sound like a Broadway singer would sing it. It was his versatility, more than anything else, that made him so popular.

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Vivian Della Chiesa (left) and Thomas L. Thomas

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John Raitt told me that Thomas L. Thomas was his model, and that he wanted to do as Thomas did and have a concert career as well as to sing on television and on Broadway.

When John was starting out, he asked me a lot about [Thomas L.] Thomas. John was meant for Broadway, and his voice is much more distinctive and a good bit larger than Thomas’s was. But John did not have the level of musicianship that Thomas had. John Raitt would never have had a concert career like Thomas L. Thomas did. Nor would Thomas have had a Broadway career like John Raitt has had.

 

Thomas had a brother, David Thomas, who was also a singer. Did you have David Thomas on any of the Hummert programs?

No. David Thomas was basically a character actor who could do some singing. His whole career was spent in Broadway musicals and plays. He was in just about every performance of “My Fair Lady” [on Broadway], singing a character role in the ensembles. But he was an actor, not a singer like Thomas L. Thomas was.

 

In your archive, there is an air-check of an arrangement you wrote for Thomas L. Thomas and Margaret Daum, a symphonic arrangement of “White Christmas.” Do you recall that arrangement?

Very well—especially when I got a call afterward from Irving Berlin, who gave me a real shellacking over the phone! He told me that I had not only ruined the song but that I had also “wasted” an entire minute distorting his melody before Thomas and Daum had sung a note.

 

Did you defend the arrangement?

At Brunswick, I had learned not to try to reason with Berlin when he was mad. I could have said, “At least I didn’t have them sing the verse,” which if you’ve ever heard it, has nothing to do with Christmas. The verse is a lament about being in Beverly Hills and being surrounded by palm trees instead of pine trees. Anyway, all I said to him was that it wouldn’t happen again. That’s all you could say to Berlin when he was yelling at you over the phone. You could also count on getting a short but very complimentary letter from Berlin a week or so later. He wouldn’t mention the incident but would tell you that he and his wife often listened to your program.

 

The “White Christmas” arrangement was broadcast on “Manhattan Merry-Go-Round.” Was Thomas L. Thomas the star of the show week after week, or was he on it only occasionally?

He was the male star of “Manhattan Merry-Go-Round” at that time, and he was also on the Monday broadcast of the show [“Monday Merry-Go-Round”] and later on Frank and Anne gave him a half-hour program called “Your Song and Mine,” which was a middle-of-the-week show. By then, he was singing a lot on “The Voice of Firestone,” which he continued to do on television. He was still concertizing, and he sang all over Europe and I think in Australia too.

 

The Hummerts had a show called “London Merry-Go-Round.” Were you involved in that show?

No. They owned the rights to it, but the show was cast and broadcast in London. I didn’t have anything to do with it, and for all practical purposes neither did Frank and Anne.

 

There was another variation called “Broadway Merry-Go-Round.” Did you oversee that show too?

Yes, in the sense that I put in Frank Black as the conductor and let him pick the songs. Frank and Anne had this fascination with Paris, so everything on that show was supposed to be French-themed. We mixed comic songs and ballads on that show. Fannie Brice did the first half of the run of that show, but she had so many other offers that she didn’t want to be tied down to a weekly radio show. Bea Lillie was very popular then, so she replaced Fannie Brice—but that show only lasted one season, if my memory is right.

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Haenschen with Vivian Della Chiesa

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The Hummerts had another French show, “The French Mignon Trio,” but there isn’t much about it in your collection. Do you remember the show?

Unfortunately, I do. I was against it, but Anne wanted a daytime music show with a small cast and nothing but French songs. She came up with the title, which I thought was atrocious, but I couldn’t do anything about it because once her mind was made up, there was no changing it. I wish I could remember who the announcer was, but his name escapes me. He couldn’t pronounce “Mignon” at first and had to be told that it was pronounced the same as “filet mignon.” I’m not sure whether that show lasted an entire season, or whether Frank quietly dropped it.

 

Going back to “Broadway Merry-Go-Round,” the Hummerts had another “Broadway” show on the air that same season called “Broadway Varieties.” What do you remember about that show?

That one ran about five or six years. It didn’t do very well at first, mainly because Jerry Freeman, whom I had picked to conduct the show and handle the arrangements, just didn’t work out. It was also French-themed—not every number, but at least some of them in every show—and Jerry Freeman just didn’t give the show any life. So I turned it over to Vic Arden, and he made a go of it. Fifi D’Orsay was one of the stars. Willie and Gene Howard were on that show too. That was a show that we started on NBC and then switched to CBS for a better time slot and higher advertising rates. We also did that with another show, “American Melody Hour.”

 

Was the theme of that show “The songs of the day so you can know them all and sing them all yourself”?

Yes, Anne [Hummert] came up with that one. That’s very typical of her [writing] style, by the way. That’s the style of the narratives on their soap operas. “American Melody Hour” was a good show because of the cast and the arrangements. Frank Munn did the whole run, and Vivian Della Chiesa did the first season. Vivian wanted to go on tour, where she could make a lot more money. She was in good standing with Frank and Anne, and she promised she would do any shows that they wanted her for. She stayed with them, and she was on several of their shows later on.

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Vivian Della Chiesa and Frank Munn on “The American Melody Hour” (Autumn 1941)

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Who conducted and did the arrangements for “American Melody Hour”?

Frank Black did all of them. When Vivian wanted to go on tour, we were in negotiations to move the show from NBC to CBS. When we went over to CBS, we put in Evelyn MacGregor, who was very good, and Jean Pickens was on the show for a time. Stan[ley] McClelland was the baritone, and he and Frank [Munn] did a lot of duets. And Carmela Ponselle too—she was on several of the “American Melody Hour” shows when we went to CBS.

 

There was a show called “Waltz Time,” which I believe you conducted.

That was a long-running show, but I only conducted its first season—maybe the first and second, I’m not sure—but most of them were conducted by Abe Lyman. We put together that show as another vehicle for Frank Munn. He sang on every program until he retired, and then we put in a young lyric tenor named Bob Hannon. We paired Frank with Lucy Monroe, who did almost the entire run.

 

For some reason, it’s hard to envision Abe Lyman leading an orchestra that played nothing but waltzes. Was it a “hard sell” to get him to do that show?

No, not at all. “Waltz Time” was a very popular program, and it made Abe a lot of money. It wasn’t the kind of music he preferred playing, but he still had his own band and was still touring with them. But this was a solid program in a very good time slot, and the money was very, very good.

 

Although these shows emanated from New York, several of the Hummert programs had “Hollywood” in their titles—“Hollywood Nights,” “The Imperial Hollywood Band,” and “MGM Radio Movie Club.” You conducted “The Imperial Hollywood Band” program, but did you also conduct the other ones?

Well, first of all, “MGM Radio Movie Club” wasn’t a musical program at all. Anne [Hummert] had this idea for a show that would simulate a movie studio. It was a dialogue show with actors playing the parts of directors, cameramen, producers and such. “The Imperial Hollywood Band” was a show we used for up and coming singers and instrumentalists. I did most of the arrangements, picked who would be featured on each program, and conducted the orchestra.

 

And “Hollywood Nights”?

That was a show we put together at NBC for Frank Luther, but it didn’t “take” and was only one for a year. Frank was a good ensemble singer but he wasn’t strong enough to carry a show by himself.

 

In those early days of network radio, who decided whether a show would continue on the air or be cancelled?

That depended on whether the show was sponsored. The ones that weren’t sponsored were underwritten by the network and were called “sustaining,” meaning that the network was paying the tab. If a show was sponsored, the sponsors would deal directly with the network’s advertising people. But for all the Hummerts’ programs, Frank dealt with the sponsors and with the network. He was the one who put the sponsors together with the shows, and he called the shots with the sponsors and the network. That’s how much power he had.

 

Would [Frank Hummert] take on a music program before he had a sponsor for it—in effect, “sustaining” a program until he could find a sponsor?

No, never. There was no money to be made in a situation like that. Keep in mind that Frank’s career was in advertising. Sponsors were what mattered the most to him.

 

One of the Hummert music program was called “California Theatre of the Air.” Did it originate in California?

No, it originated in New York. It was a knock-off of “Chicago Theatre of the Air,” the show that Col. [Robert R.] McCormick used as a showcase for Marion Claire. Frank knew McCormick from his [Frank Hummert’s] years in Chicago. That “California Theatre of the Air” only lasted one season because there was nothing distinctive about it.

 

The Hummerts also had a show called “Nightclub of the Air” in the mid-1930s. What was the premise of that program?

That show was pretty open-ended. Any of the popular bands could appear on the show, and Isham Jones, Gus Arnheim, Abe Lyman, Fred Waring, and Ted Fiorito were on it. Milton Cross was the announcer of that show.

 

The Hummerts also had a program called “Roxy Symphony Theater of the Stars.” How much interaction did they have with “Roxy” Rothafel?

Not very much because it was Roxy’s theater and the program was essentially a broadcast of one of the stage shows at Radio City Music Hall during the first year or two that it was open.

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S. L. “Roxy” Rothafel (left) and conductor Erno Rapee

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Were you involved with the show yourself?

No, hardly at all. Roxy had hired Erno Rapee as his conductor, and he had a staff of arrangers. The Radio City orchestra had over 100 players, and of course they had a large chorus and that famous dance troupe. All I did was to look over what would be sung or played. Rapee had done several sessions for us at World Broadcasting, so he and I knew each other very well, and he knew what songs the Hummerts wanted to hear. But Roxy and Radio City were so big that they didn’t need the Hummerts, so that program didn’t last more than a year or two.

 

There was another short-lived program around that same time, called “Waves of Melody.” What do you remember about that show?

I think that was the one that began as a fifteen-minute program at NBC, then Frank expanded it to a half-hour, and it went nowhere. Vic[tor] Arden oversaw the arrangements and conducted the orchestra, and Frank [Hummert] found a tenor that he wanted Vic to feature. I can’t remember the name of the tenor [Tom Brown], but he didn’t go anywhere and the show didn’t either.

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In your collection, there are arrangements for a show called “The Musical Revue” which you conducted. What was the format of that program?

That was basically “The Palmolive Hour” under a different title, with Frank Munn, Virginia Rea, and Elizabeth Lennox and our studio orchestra. Frank Black and I alternated conducting the shows, and we did the arrangements as well.

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“The Pet Milk Hour” in a later incarnation, as “Saturday Night Serenade.” This ad is from a 1940s Pet Milk cookbook.

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One of your most popular shows late in your radio career was “The Pet Milk Hour,” which we had talked about before. In the late-1940s you gave two singers a start on that show: Vic Damone and Florence Henderson. I don’t believe either one of them had any national exposure until you put them on “The Pet Milk Hour.” Had you auditioned them?

Perry Como had recommended Vic to me. I had met Perry when he was with Ted Weems’ band, and I had given him some advice when he went out on his own. Vic was ideal to work with. Florence Henderson wasn’t with us very long. She was a conservatory graduate and had wanted to be an opera singer, but she really didn’t have the voice for it.

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Perry Como recommended Vic Damone to Haenschen for the Pet Milk broadcasts.

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Are you still in touch with both Vic Damone and Florence Henderson?

With Vic, yes, but not Florence Henderson. She’s so big on television now, and she doesn’t like to be reminded of her radio days because it dates her. Vic is just as popular today as he was twenty-five years ago. He’s followed Perry’s example of keeping in shape physically and vocally.

 

The longest-running of the Hummert shows, and the one you were associated with from beginning to end, was “The American Album of Familiar Music.” You did that show for twenty years, so it must hold a special place in your memory.

That was my show, it was my format, and I had the pick of anybody I wanted for that program. From the start [in 1931], I always mixed light classical music with popular music, so I was able to vary the repertoire and give the show a different “feel” than the other [Hummert] programs. I had my “regulars” on the show—especially Frank Munn, Virginia Rea, Lucy Monroe, Elizabeth Lennox, and Vivian Della Chiesa—but I also had Bert[ram] Hirsch heading the string section, and an excellent chorus too. Over the years, all of the guys who played in our World Broadcasting sessions—both Dorseys, [Benny] Goodman, Artie [Shaw] and the others—were in “The American Album” orchestra.

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Haenschen as the face of “The American Album of Familiar Music”

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When “The American Album” went off the air in 1951, you continued touring with the entire orchestra and cast until 1954.

I liked those annual tours, and I had discovered a new tenor who was perfect for everything we did on that show. His name was Earl William Sauvain, and he sang under the name “Earl William.” Earl was built like a lumberjack, and was a very handsome young guy. And what a tenor voice! I owe Jim Melton for Earl William Sauvain because Jim had discovered Lilian Murphy Sauvain, Earl’s wife, who was also a singer and a very attractive, petite woman. Well, I put together the best vocal trio I had ever had on “The American Album”: Earl as the tenor, and a good-looking baritone named Michael Roberts, and Vivian Della Chiesa as our soprano. My one regret is that I hadn’t come across Earl much, much earlier, when I could have given him more exposure and a longer career as a star. He certainly deserved it.

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“American Album” artists: Gus Haenschen (top left); Vivian Della Chiesa (top right); Earl William (Sauvain) (bottom left); and Michael Roberts (bottom right).

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In 1953 and 1954, even though “The American Album of Familiar Music” was no longer on the air, you toured the country from October 27 to December 16, 1953, and then again from late-October to mid-December 1954, you performed in fifty cities in fifty days. That’s a grueling schedule in a caravan of buses!

I won’t disagree about the schedule—but you also don’t hear me saying that I didn’t want to do it. I loved being on the road with “The American Album.” We were received like royalty wherever we performed, and all of us had a great time doing those tours.

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After radio: Examples of an “American Album of Familiar Music” program and their grueling itinerary in the early 1950s, from Haenschen’s archive.

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Being responsible to the Hummerts for overseeing all of their music programs must have been extremely time-consuming. How did you manage all of those programs?

The same way I managed all of the popular-music recording sessions for Brunswick, and after that the output of the World Broadcasting Company. None of the Hummert radio shows were complicated from a musical standpoint—the arrangements weren’t hard to do, we had the pick of the best studio musicians and singers, and Frank handled the sponsors and the networks. Frank and Anne ran their entire operation—the music shows, the soap operas, the kids’ shows, the detective shows—like a machine. I had gotten used to that long ago, so it wasn’t a problem for me.

 

Were you surprised that they didn’t carry their “radio empire” into television?

Not really, because television and radio were totally different in the late-1940s. Most people thought television was a fad that would go away. Even after the coaxial cable that linked the East and West coasts was completed, television sets were expensive and unreliable, and the networks—especially NBC—saw themselves as radio networks. If you remember television in the late-1940s, you’ll remember that except in New York and Chicago, television went on the air in the morning, and then went off the air until the late afternoon. The market for television programs was kids’ shows until Milton Berle started his Texaco show.

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1954 advance booking notice for the “American Album” group

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You could have turned “The American Album of Familiar Music” into a television program, much the same as Fred Waring did with the Pennsylvanians. Were you at all tempted to do that?

Actually, Fred persuaded me to get into television. He was sure it was here to stay. [Paul] Whiteman had gotten a television show, and NBC had already televised Toscanini and the NBC Symphony, so Fred really encouraged me to go into television. But Frank [Hummert] didn’t want to make the switch, and I had already been in show business for thirty years, mostly on radio except for my years at Brunswick, so I didn’t want to get involved in a new medium.

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Reviews for the “American Album” concerts, early 1950s

 

You did at least one television show with Jimmy Durante in 1949 or 1950. How did that come about?

He asked me to conduct the orchestra for one of his television shows. I used to kid Jimmy that I knew him before he was Jimmy Durante. I met him when he was a ragtime pianist.

 

That was before he teamed with Lew Clayton and Eddie Jackson?

Long before that. I’m talking about 1919, when Jimmy was the pianist with the Original New Orleans Jazz Band. In those days, Lew Clayton was in big-time vaudeville with Cliff Edwards. They were a big draw on the Keith Circuit, and with the Shuberts—they were an opening act for Jolson at the Winter Garden. But back when I met Jimmy Durante, he was just a ragtime pianist in cafes. Then he opened his own club, the Club Durant, and got Lew Clayton to invest in it. That was the start of Clayton, Jackson and Durante.

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Jimmy Durante (center) with the Original New Orleans Jazz Band, c. 1919.

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Where was the television show you conducted for Jimmy Durante telecast?

At NBC. I have a kinescope of it. Jimmy had come into his own long before then, and he was a big star. If you think about his career, he has done everything and has done it well. He was in one of the earliest jazz bands in New York, and then he made it big on Broadway with Clayton and Jackson—but it was Jimmy who was the star. He went into radio, and was also in several films that did very well, and then he became a television star. I feel so bad for him now because of the stroke he had about three years ago [in 1972]. Jimmy is one of the nicest guys in show business, and he’s the same off the stage as he is on the stage.

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Haenschen (right) signing autographs for “American Album” fans in Boston. Earl William (Sauvain) is at the left.

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After “The American Album of Familiar Music” went off the air, and you did the annual tours, were you still with the Hummerts?

I still had my position with Air Features, but television had taken hold by then, and Frank was having health problems. His health began to fail around 1960. It’s been almost ten years since Frank died [in 1966].

Do you still see Anne Hummert?

My wife spends time with her. Anne is a lost soul without Frank. They were so wrapped up in each other because of the sheer amount of shows they had on the air. But they had no children and very few friends, so Anne didn’t have many people to help her through Frank’s illness and death.

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Anne Hummert in 1939, when she was honored by editors of The Biographical Dictionary of American Women as “One of the most important women in America.”

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I should have asked you this first, but what brought you to the Hummerts, or the Hummerts to you?

Frank offered me the position. He came to me.

 

Just Frank Hummert, and not Anne?

She had nothing to do with it. Frank and I had known each other long before he got into radio.

 

Had you met him when he was in the advertising business in Chicago?

No, no—in St. Louis. Frank’s father, whom Frank is named for [Edwin Frank Hummert, Jr.] was an exporter in St. Louis. Frank, who was five years older than I, started out working for his father in the export business. He wrote ads for the family business, and was such a good writer that he was hired by the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Then he got into the real-estate business, first as an agent and then as a broker, and he made a ton of money in real estate.

Frank was also a “regular” at the St. Louis Cardinals games. My band played between innings, and Frank looked me up when he was still with the Post-Dispatch. He gave me a lot of good press. Then he decided to start his own advertising agency—and my band, and then Gene Rodemich’s, were among his first clients. When Frank married his first wife, Ellie [Adeline Eleanor Woodlock], I was the pianist at their wedding reception. Ellie died in her early forties, when she and Frank were living in Chicago.

Anne knew that I had been part of Frank’s life with his first wife, and I think that’s why Frank never involved her in any of his dealings with me. But like so many other things in my life, my years with Frank Hummert go back to St. Louis. That’s where it all started for me.

— J. A. D

 

In the next installment, Haenschen recalls his formative years in St. Louis, including previously unpublished details concerning his privately made Banjo Orchestra records.
Previous Installments in the
Gus Haenschen Series:

Brunswick Years – Part 1  |  Brunswick Years – Part 2
Brunswick Years – Part 3  |  Brunswick Years – Part 4
Radio Years – Part 1  |  Radio Years – Part 2
Radio Years – Part 3

Text © 2019 by James A. Drake. All rights are reserved.

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The James A. Drake Interviews • Gus Haenschen: The Radio Years — Part 3

The James A. Drake Interviews
Walter Gustave (Gus) Haenschen:
The Radio Years — Part 3

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In this installment, Haenschen takes us inside Frank and Anne Hummert’s radio programming empire and offers a glimpse of a coming sea-change in the recorded-sound industry — the introduction of tape mastering and editing.

Previous Installments in the
Gus Haenschen Series:

Brunswick Years – Part 1  |  Brunswick Years – Part 2
Brunswick Years – Part 3  |  Brunswick Years – Part 4
Radio Years – Part 1  |  Radio Years – Part 2

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After the “Champion Spark Plug Hour,” your files indicate that your next major radio appearance was the “RCA Demonstration Hour,” a mid-afternoon program on the NBC Blue network in August 1929. What are your recollections of that program?

That was a one-time program that [RCA founder and president David] Sarnoff wanted. He specified that he wanted familiar classical melodies featured on that program.

 

According to newspaper accounts of the broadcast, you conducted “Gustave Haenschen’s Little Symphony Orchestra” and also “The Singing Strings.” Do you recall any of the arrangements you used on the “Demonstration Hour”?

Only a few that Frank [Black] had arranged for our “Singing Strings”—the Meditation from Thais, an arrangement of the Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana, familiar classical melodies of that sort. The program was very well received because NBC and RCA really promoted it. That was the advantage of being with NBC during its early days. [NBC founder David] Sarnoff was very accessible to us, and his energy and vision were inspiring because radio was still new, and we were new to radio.

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Program listing for the “RCA Demonstration Hour” (July 1929)

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With very few exceptions, your radio shows were owned by Air Features, Inc., and from your personal archives I gather that you and all of the artists who performed on those programs were also employed by Air Features. Was Air Features a subsidiary of NBC or an independent production company?

The short answer is that Air Features was the name that two of the most important and powerful people in the radio industry came up with for their incorporation papers. From about 1930 till 1950, these two people, Frank and Anne Hummert, produced, directed and controlled 135 radio programs of every kind imaginable. Soap operas, which they essentially invented, were their bread and butter as far as most of the public knew, but they also produced and aired cooking shows, detective shows, kids’ shows, game shows, and of course musical programs.

To appreciate what Frank and Anne built, just add up the number of hours each week that their programs were on the air—an average of 36 hours of airtime every week. That was unheard of from independent producers, and it’s still the most airtime any producer or for that matter any performer has ever had on the air at the same time.

 

That’s more than Arthur Godfrey, who seemed to “own” television and radio in the 1950s, had on the air every week.

Not just “more,” but much more. At his peak, Godfrey accounted for about 15 hours a week on the air—not quite half of the total weekly airtime the Hummerts’ shows commanded. And their shows were on all three networks: the two NBC networks, the Red and the Blue, and on CBS.

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Anne and Frank Hummert

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In your archives, there are few photos of the Hummerts, and they look more like a father-daughter team than a husband and wife. Frank Hummert appears to be considerably older, very bony-looking, with thinning hair and a slight curvature in his neck. Anne Hummert, on the other hand, looks like she could be his daughter. Her personal trademark seemed to be her white-framed glasses and ever-present stenography pad. Were they as eccentric as photos of them suggest?

“Eccentric” fits them pretty well. They had become very, very wealthy from their radio shows, although Frank had been wealthy by most any standards before he hired Anne as an assistant. Frank had been an advertising executive for most of his working life, and had also made a lot of money in residential real estate when he was young. But that was years before he met Anne, when he was married to his first wife. She died young, and as often happens when a man loses his wife, Frank threw himself into his work. His work became his whole life. Then years later, he married Anne.

 

Do you know how they met?

Sure, of course. Her name was Anne Schumacher at that time. She was a college graduate [of Goucher College] with a real gift for writing. She had gotten a job writing for The Baltimore Sun while she was still in college, and the city desk editor, John Ashenhurt, took a liking to her. He and Anne got married in the late-1920s, I think in 1927 or 1928, and Anne became pregnant not too long after they got married.

Then Ashenhurst got an offer from one of the newspapers in Chicago, so they moved there. It was all right at first, but Anne had been used to working and was now stuck at home raising their baby. She was eager to find any kind of writing job she could get, and could work from home as much as possible.

Chicago was home to a lot of advertising agencies, and one of the biggest was called “Blackett-Sample-Hummert.” From what Frank told me, he had been offered a partnership in the agency but turned it down because he didn’t want to be tied to them. He and they compromised by putting his name on the agency because Frank was the key to their success. He turned out so many catch phrases, or slogans, for all kinds of products, and he was raking in money for the agency, so he was able to have his name on the agency without being tied to them.

 

When did he meet Anne [Ashenhurst]?

Frank was known for working almost around the clock, so he had several assistants—that agency was a very big operation—but a lot of them didn’t last because they couldn’t keep up with the workload he demanded. He happened to hire Anne to fill one of those assistant jobs when somebody quit. Well, he soon found out that she could outwork anybody. He kept testing her by giving her more and more to do, but the more responsibilities he gave her, the more ads she turned out. She was as driven and as meticulously organized as he was.

 

Was it Anne Hummert who conceived of the so-called “soap opera”?

No, no—that was Frank’s idea. Around the time [William S.] Paley got into radio in the late-1920s, his new network, CBS, was following the lead of NBC for daytime programs. It was obvious that women, or “homemakers” as they were called, were the audience for daytime radio. The two NBC networks put on daytime programs that were geared to women, including dramas, but those programs weren’t “serials”—in other words, Tuesday’s program didn’t pick up where Monday’s left off.

Frank had always been a movie fan, and like most of us who went to the movies in the 1910s, he saw how popular a serial called The Perils of Pauline was with movie audiences. That serial was so popular that other movie studios started producing serials, and they sold a ton of tickets.

What Frank [Hummert] did was to take the movie-serial concept and put it on radio. Then he got companies he was dealing with as an advertiser to sponsor them. Procter and Gamble was one of his biggest clients, and he got them to sponsor these daytime radio serials. That’s where the phrase “soap opera” came from. The “soap” was from Procter and Gamble, and “opera” was from the plots of these daily dramas, which had more twists and turns than Il Trovatore.

 

So, then, Frank Hummert came up with the idea of a daytime radio serial—but didn’t Anne Hummert write most of them?

Oh, no—that would have been impossible! It’s really hard to imagine today how many programs Frank and Anne Hummert had on the air on all three networks. They were producing sixty soap operas every week. Each of those shows aired Monday through Friday, so that meant that they had to have 300 scripts a week just for the soap operas—and soap operas were only part of [the Hummerts’] weekly schedule. There were all of the musical programs, not to mention the detective shows, kids’ shows, sports programs, and all the other shows they were responsible for every week.

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The Hummerts’ “soap opera factory” (1944)

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How did the Hummerts manage so large an operation?

Well, there are two answers to that question: their drive, which was phenomenal, and their ability to stay ahead of the growth of this empire that they built. Those two ingredients—the fact that both of them were so driven, and the fact that they could create and produce so many programs every year while also thinking up new ones and foreseeing how to manage their current programs and preparing the new ones simultaneously—that’s what made them so successful.

 

Yet they could walk down the busiest streets in Manhattan and no one knew who they were.

That’s right, and that’s just how they wanted it. You have to understand that they were in the entertainment industry. They were in show business but they weren’t entertainers—they weren’t “show people,” they were business people. For them, all of the trappings that entertainers typically want—their name in lights on a marquee, crowds of fans wanting autographs, and all of that fluff meant nothing to Frank and Anne Hummert. What mattered to them was power, wealth, and above all anonymity. The name of their holding company was Air Features, Inc., not Hummert, Inc.

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Anne and Frank Hummert (center and right) at CBS

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How would you describe your role in Air Features? What was the range of your responsibilities with the company?

I was the Director of Musical Programs for the whole corporation, so I was responsible for putting together, overseeing, and in several cases arranging and conducting all of the Hummert musical programs. There were fifteen different programs every week during the 1930s and 1940s, and I was the one who had to put together the orchestras, choruses and soloists, review and approve all of the [musical] arrangements for every program, review every script for the announcers, and oversee all of the rehearsals for every one of those programs.

 

How in the world did you do all of that?

I guess the way I would answer that is by saying that like the Hummerts, I was in the “business” of entertainment, and I had already had similar responsibilities at Brunswick, and even more when we created World Broadcasting and built it into a very large enterprise. I was used to getting the maximum amount done in a minimum amount of time. I could get all of the top studio musicians because they had worked with me already and knew what I was like to work for. The same with the arrangers, especially Frank Black. Between us, we hired dozens and dozens of arrangers.

 

Is it true that the Hummerts would only pay scale to musicians?

Well, that was their policy, but I had a lot of discretion about how much I could give as bonuses to players or singers who were making a lot of money for us. In the early 1930s, during the worst of the Depression, if you were a studio musician, steady work was the most important thing to you. If I approved hiring you at Air Features—and I would only do that for musicians I had already worked with, or ones who the best players recommended to me—then you had all the work you could possibly want. You might not like the music you had to play, but you were guaranteed long-term work as long as you were doing your best for us on the air.

 

About the selections for each program, did you choose them?

Technically, no—Anne Hummert picked every song for every program. But she was so busy with the soap operas and the other shows that I would draft the selections for each program, and she would approve most of them as soon as she read the draft. I knew what she liked, which was a mix of waltzes, love songs, operetta arias, and some “light” classical music, so I suggested what I knew she wanted to hear.

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Bob Hannon, Evelyn MacGregor, and Victor Arden reviewing music for the Air Features series, “Waltz Time.”

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How could she possibly monitor that many weekly music programs?

She couldn’t, any more than she and Frank could monitor sixty soap operas and the twenty or more other programs that they produced. They contracted for air-checks for all the programs, but they rarely had time to listen to them. But what they would do was to drop in unannounced at rehearsals. They could tell in two or three minutes how a rehearsal was going, and if they didn’t like some aspect of what they were hearing, whoever was responsible for that program would have a memo in his mail slot by the end of that same day, telling them what was good and what wasn’t good. The fact that they would drop in unannounced to any rehearsal is what kept the actors, announcers, and all the musicians in top form.

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The Hummerts drop in on a rehearsal.

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With your own schedule, being responsible for every facet of fifteen weekly musical programs on all three major networks at one time or another, how much rehearsal time could you put in before a broadcast?

I limited all of my shows’ rehearsals to thirty minutes before airtime. That meant the players and soloists were to be in the studio one hour before airtime, to spend the first half of that hour going over the arrangements and warming up. At exactly thirty minutes before airtime, they were to be in place, either sitting behind a music stand or on a riser if they were in the chorus, or standing near the microphones if they were soloists.

I would start the rehearsal by saying, for example, “Number 8, first ten bars of the refrain,” and whoever was scheduled to sing or play the eighth number on the program had to begin performing it immediately. As soon as I heard that it was right, I would motion for them to stop and then I’d pick another number and have the orchestra or the chorus perform several bars of that selection.

Keep in mind that these were many of the top studio musicians in the industry, so this was their livelihood. They knew that rehearsal time was kept to a minimum, and that if they weren’t in peak form and ready to go when the “On the Air” light went on, they weren’t going to be on the payroll anymore.

 

You mentioned that Frank Hummert was a widower when he hired Anne as an assistant. It seems as if she rose to the top of his agency in no time at all, and then was overseeing all of their soap operas—and somewhere during that timeframe, they got married.

Frank was in the advertising business, as I said, when he came up with the idea of matching clients with these daytime serials that he came up with. He had hired Anne as just another assistant, but what made her stand out was that she could conceive characters and scenarios for entire shows on her own. If my memory is accurate, she started at a fairly low rung on the ladder, but the whirlwind of shows she conceived and wrote is what made her stand out. Frank promoted her to a vice presidency after she had been there only two years, and he made her a partner in the firm about a year and a half later.

 

Considering the difference in their ages and backgrounds, what did they have in common?

There were several things, beginning with their frugality. They were living in Chicago when they got married, but the radio networks were in New York City, so for a year or more they commuted to Manhattan by train. They would take the Twentieth Century Limited on Sunday, stay in an apartment they rented in New York until Thursday afternoon, and then take the train back to Chicago. On the way there, they would listen to parts of Friday’s broadcasts while they were in their first-class cabin in the sleeping car.

When the money really started rolling in, they moved to Manhattan and took a palatial apartment on Fifth Avenue. They ran their household with the same efficiency as their radio shows. When my wife Roxie and I would be invited there for dinner, we’d always eat a light meal before we went there because all that Anne served was tomato soup out of a can, and some canned peaches or pears for dessert. Frank and Anne were non-drinkers—as we were—but they knew my tastes, there was always a cold bottle of Coke at my place at their kitchen table. My wife will tell you that I keep Coca-Cola in business.

Frank and Anne never “entertained” in the social sense of the word. Very few people were ever invited to their apartment. If you were among the few who were, and you were given a tour of their huge apartment, Anne would walk in front of you, pointing out this or that furniture and other décor—and as soon as she would take you from one room to the next, you’d hear Frank behind you turning off the lights!

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August 1933 advertisement for “The Maxwell House Show Boat”

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One of the most heralded shows you produced for Air Features took place on June 15, 1933, when the premiere broadcast of “The Maxwell House Show Boat” was aired “live.” All of the aluminum airchecks from that premiere have been saved and almost all are in remarkable condition. According to one of the stars of the premiere, Lanny Ross, you had scheduled Don Voorhees to conduct the program, but that he had taken sick an hour or so before the “live” broadcast and you substituted for him. Do you recall that last-minute turn of events?

Yes, but I insisted that because the program had been promoted heavily with Don as the conductor, the broadcast should be done with his name mentioned as the conductor. I had no need to have my name announced as the actual conductor, and Don was a good conductor whom we used a lot at World Broadcasting, so I wanted him to get the credit and the money for that premiere broadcast. I’m glad to know that the air-checks still exist, and I hope to hear them again.

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A different take on Voorhees’ departure from “The Maxwell House Show Boat” (Akron Beacon-Journal, December 25, 1933)

 

The next radio program I found in your archives was called “The Chevrolet Chronicles.” According to press clippings, the program was conducted alternately by you and Frank Black. What was the format of the program?

That program didn’t last long, and it was mainly because the format wasn’t right. The one broadcast I remember was with Eddie Rickenbacker, the famous American “ace” of the 94th Squadron in World War One, who spoke about the progress in air transportation and the need for the U.S. to have the best air force in the world. We arranged some World War One songs for that program, but the format didn’t leave much room for expanding it to something that listeners would wait for week after week.

 

Decades later, in the early-1950s, you were on radio again with Chevrolet, but in commercials rather than on a weekly program. In each of the commercials, you arranged the music to fit the repertoire with which the artist was most associated, and after the first verse of “See the U.S.A. in Your Chevrolet,” each artist would say, “Thank you, Gus Haenschen, for your beautiful music.” Do you remember those commercials?

Oh, sure, very well. I was retained by the Campbell-Ewald [advertising] agency to come up with celebrity commercials endorsing the Chevrolet. Dinah Shore was already associated with Chevrolet, which was her sponsor. General Motors and Campbell-Ewald wanted a broader representation from famous singers, so I was given a sizable budget to recruit them. I’m please to say that the roster I put together included many of the singers I had performed with, and in some cases had helped their careers when they were young.

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Thomas L. Thomas, Margaret Daum, and Haenschen on the long-running “American Album of Familiar Music” (August 1950).

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Who were some of those singers, and what did they sing in these commercials?

What they sang was just the Chevrolet jingle, “See the U.S.A. in Your Chevrolet.”  I called on John Charles Thomas, Thomas L. Thomas, Gisele Mackenzie, Dick Powell, Dorothy Kirsten, Jan Peerce, and even Lauritz Melchior to record these commercials.  We recorded them on audiotape and then pressed them on microgroove transcription discs, which were sent to stations across the country from all three radio networks at the same time.

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Dick Powell (left) with Haenschen, during production of Campbell-Ewald’s Chevrolet commercials (Gus Haenschen Collection)

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You allowed your name to be mentioned as the conductor, which seems unusual for you.

That was Campbell-Ewald’s idea, not mine. We allowed three takes for each commercial. Audiotape had come in by then, so it was much easier to edit and correct any mistakes.  Except for Melchior’s, almost all of the other commercials were recorded in one or two takes. But Melchior was having trouble with his top tones that day, and was also garbling some of the words, so his [commercial] took about six or seven takes. I can still hear him trying to sing, “See da You-Hess-Hay in your Chev-rrro-let / America is da gr-gr-greatest land of all,” and ending it with an A-natural on the last take, “And see it in your Chev-rrro-let!”

He couldn’t get the A-natural during take after take, so we finally had to have him sing the line a tone lower, and a bit slower, so that our engineers could increase the playback speed and splice in the A-natural. When it was aired, that commercial got the most attention because of the way Melchior sang it. That series of commercials won an annual award, and I got a hefty bonus by Campbell-Ewald. That was a very good year from me.

 — J. A. D.

 

Previous Installments in the
Gus Haenschen Series:

Brunswick Years – Part 1  |  Brunswick Years – Part 2
Brunswick Years – Part 3  |  Brunswick Years – Part 4
Radio Years – Part 1  |  Radio Years – Part 2

Text © 2019 by James A. Drake. All rights are reserved.

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Murray K. Hill: Newspaper Highlights (1901 – 1942)

Murray K. Hill: Newspaper Highlights (1901 – 1942)

 

Joseph T. Pope got his start in show business performing “blackface” routines in small-time minstrel shows. By the early 1900s, he had set out on his own, under the name of Murray K. Hill. (The spelling varied between “Murry” and “Murray” on record labels and in ads and newspaper stories; “Murray” appears to have been the more common spelling, and it was used in his obituaries.)

Although Hill continued to occasionally appear in blackface into the early 1900s, he was much better-known for his topical songs and rapid-fire comic monologues. Attired in tails and an old-fashioned top hat, he specialized in satirizing current events and mangling American history. He wrote his own material, boasting that he operated a “song and story factory.” “The Last Survivor,” a popular vaudeville act introduced in 1908, was based on his early minstrel-show experiences.

Hill traveled widely on the Sullivan & Considine vaudeville circuit in the U.S. and Canada, but his style became increasingly outdated in the ‘teens and early ‘twenties. After making his last nationally advertised tour in 1922, he settled down with his family in Chicago, but still occasionally performed in the Midwest into the 1930s.

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Dayton, Ohio (August 1901)

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Hill recalls his experiences during the Evansville race riots
(October 1906).

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“The Last Survivor,” August 1908: Los Angeles (top), and Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada (bottom)


Butte, Montana (July 1908)

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Los Angeles (August 1910)

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Victoria, British Columbia, Canada (June 1910)

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Wichita, Kansas (October 1911)

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The San Francisco Call (January 27, 1913)

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Fort Wayne, Indiana (January 1915)

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Wichita, Kansas (January 1915)

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Chicago (October 23, 1942)

 

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Hill recorded prolifically from the spring of 1907 through the spring of 1911, for Columbia, Edison, Indestructible, U-S Everlasting, Victor, and Zonophone (a final Edison cylinder release, in 1914, probably was from an earlier, previously withheld master).  Here’s a small sampling:

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MURRAY K. HILL: A Bunch of Nonsense

Camden, NJ: November 10, 1909
Victor 16446 (mx. B 8320 – )
Introducing “The Last Survivor” and “In the Good Old Steamboat Days”

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MURRAY K. HILL: The Tale of the Cheese

Camden, NJ: November 10, 1909
Victor 35093 (mx. C8356 – 3)

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MURRAY K. HILL: A String of Laughs

New York: Listed April 1909
Edison Amberol 101 (cylinder)
Introducing “Don’t” and “Four-Hundred Nursery Rhymes Brought Up to Date”

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MURRAY K. HILL: Don’t Go Up in That Big Balloon, Dad

New York: Listed April 1910
Edison Gold Moulded 10375 (cylinder)

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The Kaufman Brothers: Highlights from Jack Kaufman’s Scrapbooks (1910 – 1927)

A few years ago, Phil (“Road Mangler”) Kaufman kindly loaned us his grand-dad Jack’s scrapbooks, a treasure-trove of clippings and memorabilia relating to the Kaufman brothers’ time in vaudeville, as well as Jack’s family life. Here are some highlights, along with a few additional nuggets we recently found among Bill Bryant’s papers.

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Kaufman Brothers banner from the scrapbook’s inside back cover, c. 1910. The original act comprised Jack and Phil; Irving came in after the latter’s death in the late ‘teens.

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The Kaufman Brothers on the road (1910)

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Telegram sent to Jack Kaufman while appearing in Toronto, announcing the birth of his son. (1910)

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(Left, seated above arrow) Jack Kaufman’s wife, Rosina Carson Kaufman (a.k.a. Olive York), as an English showgirl. (Right) Jack Kaufman’s son Jules, c. late 1910.

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In the early days of their act, the Kaufmans regularly toured from coast to coast, but as the itinerary on the left shows, they later stayed close to home. Both pieces probably date to 1914, based on their position in the scrapbook. The misspelling “Kauffman” was not uncommon in newspapers.

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A telegram to the “Kuffman” brothers, November 1911. Bender, Coombs, Morgan, Pearl & Robinson was a vaudeville act comprising three Boston Athletics pitchers, the Pearl Sisters (Kathryn & Violet), and theatrical manager John Robinson. They toured together briefly after the 1911 World Series.

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An early ad for the Kaufman Brothers picturing Jack (left) and Phil (right), c. 1910. Before signing with Orpheum, they toured on the Pantages circuit.

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The Kaufmans were a favorite of newspaper caricaturists. These examples date from c. 1912–1914, when they sometimes  performed in blackface. “Palestine” refers to the town in Texas where the brothers claimed they picked up their “Southern” accents.

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Phil and Jack Kaufman in blackface with unidentified others, c. 1912. This unfortunate component of the act was mostly mothballed after Irving replaced Phil in the late ‘teens.

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After Phil’s death, Jack teamed with younger brother Irving, who had recently left the Avon Comedy Four. Irving and Jack were in  high demand by the recording studios. They worked cheap, weren’t picky about repertoire, and cranked out recordings by the hundreds, using so many aliases that new ones are still be discovered. Their cover of Gallagher & Shean’s Victor hit (“Absolutely, Mr. Gallagher?” “Positively, Mr. Shean!”) appeared on many minor labels. Regal’s ad pictured the actual Gallagher and Shean. (1923)

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Work is where you find it — in this case as an “added attraction” at a Philadelphia movie house. (1922)

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A hodge-podge of a concert at the Chicago Theatre, with selections ranging from a pipe-organ transcription of Wagner’s Rienzi Overture to a selection of current Tin Pan Alley hits by the Kaufmans.

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This Chicago handbill probably dates from 1923–1924. Note the mention of Jimmy Wade, a popular black Chicago band leader who recorded some fine sides for Paramount at about this time.

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The Kaufmans in a Vitaphone short (1927)

Cleveland’s Bessie Brown Signs with Brunswick (1928)

There were three Bessie Browns on records in the 1920s, two of them apparently New York–area singers. The last of the three to record worked in Cleveland and signed with Brunswick in 1928. This announcement appeared in the March 1928 Talking Machine World:

bessiebrown-bwk“Chloe” was a  straightforward rendition with conventional orchestral accompaniment. The reverse is also a commercial pop tune, by Irving Berlin, but is interesting for its piano accompanist, who unfortunately wasn’t named on the labels or in the Brunswick files:

https://78records.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/bessie-brown.mp3″
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BESSIE BROWN (with unknown pianist): Someone Else May Be There While I’m Gone

Chicago: January 24, 1928
Brunswick 3817  (mx. C 1673)