Radio Articles

Information for this article was provided by the St. Louis Public Library’s Media Archives

Even though they competed for advertising dollars, there have been times when radio has really needed newspapers. In the case of an East St. Louis radio station, the newspaper wouldn’t cooperate.

Lester Cox, a Springfield, Mo., businessman, came to East St. Louis in 1935 to build a radio station. The local economy was still reeling from the Depression, but business investment was starting to pick up. Cox hired William West, the former general manager of KMOX, to run his station, which was incorporated as Mississippi Valley Broadcasting.

A construction permit was issued by the Federal Communications Commission in February of 1935 over the objections of the Pulitzer Publishing Company, Thomas Patrick Convey and Benson Broadcasting.

It seems Pulitzer, which owned KSD in St. Louis, Convey (KWK) and Benson (WIL), didn’t want competition on the east side of the metropolitan area. The companies argued to the F.C.C. that they were already providing adequate radio service to the area. The argument was overwhelmingly rejected.

Lester Cox was very successful in his work. He was president of Ozark Auto Supply and owned two radio stations in Springfield. He was invited to speak to the East St. Louis Chamber of Commerce to tell them of his plans for WTMV. “I make my money someplace else and spend it in radio,” Cox told the forum. “But the Springfield stations are making money and we expect WTMV to do likewise.”

It may have been this sentiment that raised red flags in the offices of the East St. Louis Journal. The local daily paper had given minimal coverage to the new radio station, but in the 1930s, many newspapers viewed the radio industry as a major threat. An ongoing “press/radio war” was being waged to prevent radio from broadcasting news, which was direct competition to the newspapers, and the radio sales staffs went after the same advertisers as did newspaper salespeople.

Possibly for these reasons, Cox and his new radio station were deprived of much of the hoopla that surrounded the sign-on of other stations in the market. There were some published news reports, but once the station was in full operation, there were no features published. For a time, the newspaper even refused to print WTMV’s broadcast schedule, although it ran the schedules of stations in St. Louis. And this means there is very little history of the station available.

Cox and manager West then set out to lure some of the market’s best-known people to help manage the operation. Woody Klose was brought in from KSD as program manager; Fred Liggett resigned as KSD’s chief engineer to move to the same slot at WTMV; and J.C. Etherington left a sales position at KMOX to become sales manager. A contract was signed with the downtown East St. Louis Broadview Hotel to locate studios on the mezzanine level, and the station’s broadcast tower was erected on the roof. Klose got the immediate attention of the public when he announced open auditions for on-air talent.

Over 100 applicants showed up the first day. It was, after all, still a difficult time economically, and many people needed the income that might be derived from appearances on the radio. Klose immediately announced that auditions would continue for a solid week to handle the crowds, and special night auditions were scheduled for “working girls” who couldn’t get to the studios during the day. Chief announcer Jack Edmunds, who had worked with NBC, was enlisted to help screen applicants.

There was another promise made to the Chamber of Commerce during that speech by Cox: “Every dollar of profit out of the station will be put back into it, until you have a station second to none in the country.” Things have certainly changed in the radio business.

By Meryl Friedel

Dramatic actor par excellence, ace announcer, writer, production man, singer, player of both the piano and alto horn…and only 19 years old…that’s Marvin Elliot Mueller, Dramatic Director of KMOX, and without doubt, the most talented young man of his age in the radio business. For that matter, he is more talented than ninety nine percent of the thousands who daily pass over the stages of many air theaters in this country.

Like the true story of all genii…Marvin is certainly a genius…his story is one of determination to make good, and long hours of hard work to do it.

His entrance into radio while a freshman at Washington University was no accident, as was the beginning of many radio stars. Marvin had always been interested in radio. One day he decided that, because certain announcers on local stations didn’t know how to properly pronounce the names of foreign musical works, it was his duty and pleasure to become a radio announcer and to see to it that listeners received the correct pronunciations.

With the courage…it is sometimes called foolhardiness…of youth, he suited action to the thought and immediately called upon a local station, telling them what he thought of their local announcers and suggesting he be given an audition. Marvin says that, considering his nerve, they were exceptionally nice, for they gave him an audition.

He admits now that he must have been pretty bad, but at the time he was annoyed that he wasn’t immediately signed, and he told the production man in charge of his audition that if they didn’t want him for an announcer, they should engage him for dramatic work because he could do many different types of voices. (He wasn’t sure he could, but he had once done it during a high school show.)

To make the story short, that “clicked” and he was engaged to write and enact a daily dramatic program in which, at times, he took as many as forty different parts.

From then on, it was comparatively easy. Although he was in and out of radio up to August, 1932, he felt confident that if he got the chance, he’d make good.

It was last August that he finally felt sure enough of himself to try for an audition at KMOX, which had always been his goal. Soon after his audition, he was made a member of the staff. Since then, he has steadily forged ahead, improving upon his talents and becoming one of the most popular of the KMOX voices.

In the less than a year’s time that Marvin has been with this station, he has impersonated a number of famous people of all types, including the late Calvin Coolidge, President Roosevelt, Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, Joseph of Nazareth, Samuel Insull, Japanese Minister of War, George Bungle, Uncle Remus and many others.

His repertoire of dialect types include British, French, Italian, Negro, Rural, Mountaineer, Irish, Cockney, Tough, Chinese, German, Old Man, Juvenile and Child.

Despite his unusual talents and the fame he has won because of them, Marvin is a normal young man who enjoys dancing, driving, and all the other sports of active, young people. His cheerful disposition and willingness to pitch in any place where help is needed makes him a favorite with the KMOX staff. And probably the most unusual thing about this young St. Louisan is that he has no idea how exceptionally talented he is. Others do, however, and we predict that it won’t be long after he finishes the University next year that the entire radio world will be hearing much of this young man.

Oh yes…we almost forgot to tell you what he looks like. Perhaps because his personality is so engaging one forgets his appearance, although it is a very attractive one. Marvin is 5 feet 11 inches tall, weighs around 175 pounds, has very dark brown hair and eyes, and one of those rosy complexions that women always envy in men.

(Originally published in Radio and Entertainment 7/22/33)

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, competitive radio stations in St. Louis teamed up to run broadcasts from a special event in the city, and there were no bean counters or national programmers to raise red flags.

That’s just one of the tidbits gleaned from a stash of “WIL News,” weekly newsletters published by that station in the late twenties and early thirties.

The simulcast programs originated from the 1928 St. Louis Radio Exposition, an event designed to show consumers the latest radio sets and encourage them to buy. Both stations – WIL and KMOX – broadcast each other’s shows, and the newsletter article noted it was the first time two St. Louis stations had “cooperated in a friendly spirit and broadcast sections of each other’s programs…”

Radio in those days was limited to a few stations in each market, all on the AM band, and all individually owned. This also meant that signals could travel long distances without interference. (At the time, WIL shared the 1200 kilocycles allocation with WMAY and KFWF.) One newsletter carried the story of a man who’d heard the station while he was working on the Steamship Celtic halfway across the Atlantic Ocean. Another mentioned reception in Porto (sic) Rico.

Promotion of the stations was limited by budgetary concerns, but WIL, owned by the Benson family, worked hard to maintain its image as a force in the radio business. In addition to a complete listing of WIL programs for the coming week, the newsletter contained small feature articles.

It also heralded WIL’s community service. On Oct. 13, 1928, the station featured its first live performance by a group high school of students known as the Guth-Steele Vagabonds. “A novelty piano solo was played by Russ David, 14-year-old pianist of the orchestra.” David would, of course, grow up to be the market’s strongest musical force in live radio performances.

In 1928, WIL was one of two St. Louis stations carrying play-by-play of the local baseball games, and when the Cardinals won the National League pennant, the station aired a “special celebration program featuring many of the St. Louis Symphony players. That evening WIL stayed on the air until 3:30 a.m. The next year, however, there were no baseball broadcasts on the station. The newsletter explained that WIL had polled its listeners, and they preferred listening to music rather than baseball.

WIL began broadcasting play-by-play hockey in 1929. Bob Robertson called the action of some of the professional American Hockey Association games played at the Winter Garden.

Dr. B. W. Ganoung, “a noted exponent of clean living as well as an authority on physical culture” used his half-hour daily show to discuss health issues. On Saturday afternoons, WIL listeners were treated to a weekly broadcast of piano lessons, conducted by Clinnie Dill Pavlik, the station’s former staff piano player.

Also on Saturdays, St. Louis Police Patrolman Richard Palmer hosted a show featuring the talents of kids in city grade schools.

In the summer of 1929, WIL opened its rooftop garden (atop the Melbourne Hotel at Grand and Lindell) to the general public. The newsletter explained: “Last year the roof garden proved a very popular spot in St. Louis, because visitors to the Friendly Station could be comfortably seated far above the noise and heat of the city streets, and enjoy the musical entertainment from the studios.”

One story in the Jan. 31, 1930, station newsletter shows just how the business of radio has changed. “L.A. Benson, the President of the Missouri Broadcasting Corporation, has inaugurated the practice of having the staff attend a dinner as guests of the company every Thursday evening at the Melbourne Hotel, where ideas are exchanged and plans are discussed to render our audience better service.

“Each week a different member of the staff is selected to make a short talk and at its conclusion everyone is invited to enter into the general discussions of various subjects relative to broadcasting and radio.”

(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 12/06)

A shining example of how fate, the master of destinies, takes an active part in everyday life, is shown in the story of how Peter Grant, popular KMOX announcer and assistant Program Director of the Voice of St. Louis, entered the field of radio broadcasting.

Peter, a graduate of the Washington University Law School, had just taken his state bar examination, which if he was successful would permit him to practice law. Yes, it would allow him to enter the profession which took five years of hard work at the University. Peter was sitting at home one Monday morning late in July 1930, wondering when he would hear about the examination he had taken a few weeks before. While at breakfast, the mailman brought a notice that he had passed the bar examination and was now entitled to practice law in the state of Missouri. Boy was he happy! Happy was no word for it. Peter was simply walking on air. Of course, he wanted to tell all his friends the good news, one friend in particular, David Flournoy, a continuity writer of KMOX. So hurriedly Peter finished his breakfast and immediately went to the studios of KMOX and told Dave the good news.

While Peter was at the station, a dramatization was about to be broadcast. The character actor who played one of the leading roles was late for the program. As this was the first time that the actor had ever been late, the program director waited until the last moment, expecting him to show up at any time. But time flew swiftly, and still the actor did not make his appearance. Five minutes passed. Three minutes passed. Then at two minutes before the program was to be broadcast the program director began to worry. Someone around the studio had to fill this leading part. Who could do it? He rushed in every office to see if he could find someone to substitute for the missing actor. He entered Dave Flournoy’s office, whom Peter Grant was visiting. “Dave,” he cried, “You’ve got to take this part. The play starts in a few minutes.” Dave replied “I’m not much of an actor but I’ll try.” Suddenly Dave had a bright idea.

Pointing to Peter Grant, he said, “Here’s the man that can do the job. He’s had a world of experience in dramatics at school.” Time was then short. In fact the announcer had already begun to announce the coming dramatization. The program director turned to Peter who was then bewildered and surprised at the sudden turn of events and said “Here’s your script.

You take the part of John, a jovial fellow who enjoys practical jokes.” Too dumbfounded to refuse, Peter was pushed into the studio to appear before a microphone for the first time and to read a script which he had never seen before. Peter didn’t even know the story. He had to watch his cues and figure out what was to follow. However, with all these difficulties, Peter’s acting was splendid.

It seemed as if fate had given him his dramatic training at school for this one purpose. Yes, perhaps fate had a hand in making him president of the Thysus and Quadrangle Clubs, dramatic organizations at Washington University. Yes, perhaps it was fate who was responsible for his appearance in “Tame Oats,” “Rosita,” “Hi Hat,” Ship Ahoy” and “Si Si Senorita,” which were produced at Washington University. Yes, too, perhaps it was fate that brought Peter to the studios of KMOX that morning, and maybe fate had a hand in keeping the character actor from making his appearance. Who knows?

But it was not fate that made Peter one of the most popular and talented announcers on the staff of KMOX. It was not fate that earned for him the position as assistant program director of KMOX. It was not fate that gave him the difficult task of forming structure of announcing the Voice of St. Louis program which is heard for a full hour over the coast-to-coast network of the Columbia Broadcasting System every Sunday morning. No, fate did not take a part here, hard work was the guiding hand that led Peter to the position he now holds. Yes, ever since that fateful day when he substituted, he has stayed in the radio business. He has forgotten all about law, even though he is eligible to practice at any day. All of his efforts have been bent on the task of making himself more fitted for radio broadcasting, and his efforts have not been in vain for he now plays a very important part in the program presentations of KMOX, the Voice of St. Louis, one of the most powerful radio stations in America.

(Originally published in Radio and Entertainment 11/14/1931)

In 1956, Jim Hummel was a curious high school senior, and an invitation from one of his teachers led to a lifelong radio career that ended 51 years later.

As a senior at Christian Brothers College High School in St. Louis, Hummel was doing well. He was a captain in the military school, an accomplishment that made his mother proud. His English teacher, Roy McCarthy, was moonlighting weekends under the air name of “Byron Scott” across the river at a small East St. Louis radio station, WTMV, and one day while the two were talking about McCarthy’s outside work, he invited the young man to come to the studios the following Saturday to visit.

Radio in the 1950s was making a transition from its glory days when networks provided the bulk of the programming. Now that television was becoming a more dominant medium, radio was remaking itself into a companion. In the case of WTMV, there was block programming, which meant that the type of program might change each couple of hours.

McCarthy was a good host that Saturday, showing Hummel what went on in a small station’s control room, but a problem arose for the announcer. The newsman called in and said he wouldn’t be able to make it for his shift. For the young Hummel it was kismet. McCarthy drafted the student to read a news broadcast, telling him he had 20 minutes to check the wire copy and assemble his script. Hummel later told Miami Herald reporter Kevin Baxter, “I didn’t blow a word – not a single word.”

The student’s on-air debut was followed by a phone call from the station manager asking who was reading the news. Hummel was hired immediately, and the station paid him $1.00 an hour to drive across the river after school to read the news.

“Just riding home that afternoon,” he told the reporter, “thinking about what had just happened. I was on the radio!
“People all over East St. Louis could flip on a little switch and hear me talking to them. I thought, ‘This is what I’m going to do. Somehow. Some way. I’m going to do radio as a career.’”

WTMV’s block programming included shows by a couple disc jockeys. Robert BQ played rhythm and blues each night. Bob Farrell, Roscoe McCrary and Les Barry also had daily shows. For the most part, the jocks got to choose the music they played with a little help from program director Dan Stengel, and there were always requests from listeners.

Within a few months of his hiring, Hummel was given his own program after Farrell was fired. He worked seven days a week on his program and filled in wherever he was needed.
The WTMV studios on the mezzanine of the Broadview Hotel weren’t lavish, but to a 17-year-old, they represented the first step into a lifetime of radio. “Rock was just beginning,” says Hummel. “The bigger stations like KXOK and WIL were playing the hits.

“I would play all kinds of music, because we weren’t limited to a format. But this was just a small 250-watt station. My mom even had trouble picking it up at our home in north St. Louis.”

Somehow, some way, the young man did end up making radio his career. He left East St. Louis in 1959, and as he moved up in the radio business through Omaha and Denver, settling in Miami, Hummel’s air name became Rick Shaw. In South Florida, he became a radio legend, retiring in 2007 after working in the Miami market for over 45 years.

(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 4/2007)

Writers were the faceless – usually nameless – people behind the scenes in yesteryear radio. Without them very little would have happened. A St. Louis man made a national name for himself in the field of radio writing after he grew tired of the long hours he was putting in at his old job.

Phil Leslie told interviewer Chuck Schaden he had been working as an assistant manager and bookkeeper in a St. Louis theater in the late 1930s when he decided to trade in his 80-hour work week for a job in writing. In 1939 he submitted some jokes to radio comedian Al Pearce for use on his network program, The Al Pearce Show. Broadcast nationally on NBC, the 30-minute show was sponsored by Grape Nuts.

Pearce was impressed, and he not only offered a writing job to Leslie. He even paid for the family’s move to Hollywood. But shortly after the Leslie family settled in California, the program went off the air for its summer hiatus, forcing Leslie to scrounge for another line of work and develop some free-lance writing work on the side.

He landed at Lockheed Aircraft, which brought in some income for a couple years. Then it was hand-to-mouth during the early years of the war. He eventually picked up script writing duties for the Major Hoople show and Victor Borge’s Kraft Music Hall. But when Phil Leslie got a chance to feed some material to a man named Don Quinn, he found the perfect job.

In March of 1943, Quinn was writing for the hugely popular Fibber McGee and Molly show. Leslie was able, through mutual friends, to get some of his material to Quinn and the two hit it off. Leslie’s work on Fibber McGee and Molly lasted until the mid-50s. He told interviewer Schaden that he began by coming up with loose plotlines so the door-knocking regular characters’ appearances could be woven into the show. Within a few months, Leslie was writing entire programs.

Quoted in the book “Heavenly Days,” Leslie said, “Don Quinn hired me to write with him, and it was a big change in my whole life…To have had thirteen years of that kind of life with Marian and Jim [Jordan, who played the show’s leads], and the others, it was a joy!”

Writing a once-a-week radio program was a week-long process. Leslie told interviewer Schaden, “…my routine was that I would write the whole show, and we would get together at the Jordans’ house on Saturday afternoon. We would all read the script – read it aloud…and I would sit and sweat – wondering how good it was. Then Don would rewrite it over the weekend on Saturday night and Sunday, as much as he thought it needed…Then Monday we’d do a reading, and Don would make cuts and polishes. Tuesday we’d rehearse all day and do the show.”

Apparently Don Quinn’s long relationship with the Jordans had yielded more than a personal relationship. They trusted his judgment completely, whether it was in hiring the best writers or in making the final script edits before the live Tuesday night broadcasts. The Fibber McGee and Molly show consistently placed in the top five nationally in number of listeners.

Along with that popularity, the show had an uncanny influence on the public as the source of favorite sayings that made their way into everyday use: “That ain’t the way I heeerd it;” “You’re a haaaard man, McGee;” “Looove dat man;” “Tain’t funny, McGee;” and “Heavenly days!” The Fibber McGee and Molly show was literally a “destination program” for radio listeners, giving them something to talk about the next day with their friends.

When Don Quinn left the program, Phil Leslie was promoted to his position. Shortly afterward the network changed the program from a half-hour, once-a-week broadcast to a fifteen minute show five nights a week.

By 1953, the power of network radio had begun to slip. Phil Leslie began writing for television, which he continued until his retirement.

(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 06/2007.)