It’s probably a part of life for many teenagers. One day while listening to the radio, there’s that exclamation to one’s self: “I could do what that disc jockey’s doing, and I could do it better.”
While there may be a lot of truth to that statement today, it’s a sentiment that’s been around as long as there’s been radio. In the very early days of the industry, people were literally taken off the street and put in local radio studios to help fill air time as piano players or singers. Within a few years, each station had its own stable of talent, but managers were still interested in what the public had to offer.
KSD auditions
Regular auditions were held by stations looking for more talent. Here in St. Louis stations provided on-air exposure for amateurs. KSD ran a show called “Stars of Tomorrow” which the station called “A radio broadcast given entirely by boys and girls of the St. Louis vicinity who are not more than 16 years of age.” One of the top performers on this show in 1933 was 12-year-old Marshall Zwick, who appeared several times playing Sousa march music on the xylophone.
Radio & Entertainment, a weekly equivalent of today’s TV Guide, even ran a two-page feature story encouraging people to audition, but noting in the headline, “You have three chances out of 500 to become a radio star, if you have talent.” One can imagine a weekly cattle call of people, all of whom think they have what it takes to be a star. And since many people were stretching to make ends meet during The Depression, some were willing to do whatever it took to put food on the table.
KMOX auditions
Studio auditions were held at KWK each Friday morning. Amateurs had to perform before a screening committee made up of members of the station’s musical and on-air staffs. At WIL, program director Franklyn MacCormack was the decision maker, often offering advice on how applicants could perform better. KMOX pianist Margo Clark handled all musical auditions at the station, which was only fitting since she herself had obtained her job through the same process several years earlier.
KMOX even held an audition on the air each week, which was a tradition at the station for years. Over 30 hopefuls were given a tryout on the airwaves and feedback came in from listeners. It was through this process that KMOX hired its chief announcer Woody Klose and one of its well-known hillbilly stars, Roy Queen.
Not that all the applicants were star quality. One local man showed up at his audition saying he could play 14 different instruments, and he had made each one of them himself out of soap and cigar boxes.
(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 6/06)
“There was a joint across the street from KMOX, a tavern. We used to hang out in that tavern.”
The speaker is Harry Gibbs. He’s talking about how he got started in the radio business with the help of his friend Chuck Barnhart.
“Chuck was one of the most talented guys I’ve ever known. He was remarkable. He used to go on the air about 5:30 in the afternoon on KMOX and he would do a one-man soap opera. He played all the parts, and he did it strictly by winging it. He didn’t write it. I used to go down there and bum with him. “He was a copywriter. He was a show producer. Whatever you needed he could do. I needed a job bad and I had narrated this housing show on KMOX with Chuck.”
Barnhart, along with Post-Dispatch drama critic Jack Balch, took up Gibbs’ cause and pitched him to one of their acquaintances.
“They talked to Mike Henry at WTMV and they said ‘You’ve gotta take this guy.’ They bugged him every day. They’d call him and ask if he’d hired me yet. He finally said ‘Okay. Send this paragon of everything over to see me.’”
The broadcast career of Harry Gibbs is usually associated with his many years on KSD-TV (Channel 5) as Texas Bruce, host of the Wranglers’ Cartoon Club. Few people realize he started here in radio in the late ‘40s.
WTMV, at that time, was an interesting place. Located in East St. Louis’ Broadview Hotel on the mezzanine, the station, according to Gibbs, was much more free-wheeling than the business is today. “Mike had employed quite a few people who really needed work. Ray Schmidt, the sports guy, was one of those Mike referred to as his ‘crippled children.’ Ray would get pretty well loaded and he had a habit. In the middle of his sports cast, when he came to a stopping place, he’d put his head down on the table and sleep a little bit.”
Staff members in the small but mighty radio station were expected to wear many hats. “There was a program that I did at 11 in the morning,” says Gibbs. “It was just a sort of a thing where I talked to myself for an hour. It seemed like forever. I’d just open the mic and wing it. I was talking to anybody who was listening.
“I also wrote copy for the whole station. I can still remember writing ‘Merry Christmas’ spots for the funeral parlor. Anything that they were going to put on the air, I wrote. I had a sort of an office right next door to the men’s john and everybody went through there at one time or another.”
Ad for the Pet Milk program
The radio business itself was very loose compared with later years. Gibbs’ voice could often be heard on several different stations in the same week, often on the same day. “I’d sit in that little office and write copy and then I’d come back across the river and do ‘Land We Live In,’ and then eventually the Pet Milk program.”
Musicians were the same way, with their groups playing on whichever stations found sponsors for them. And the pay was so low that anyone who had a family to support would take whatever work was available.
So when the opportunity to do a show on a network came along, Gibbs grabbed it. The show, sponsored by Pet Milk, was a conception of Gardner Advertising, headquartered in St. Louis. They wrote all the scripts, hired the talent, bought the time on the networks and produced the show at local radio studios. Mary Lee Taylor was heard on NBC and CBS during its run.
Harry Gibbs remembers that the Mary Lee Taylor Show started out as a women’s program that gave out recipes, but then Gardner decided to expand the offering. “They’d decided that the Mary Lee Taylor thing, which was just recipes, needed to be goosed up, so they threw this 15-minute soap opera into it.”
Tommye Rodemeyer, Susan Cost, Del King (announcer) and Harry Gibbs
And that meant more work for St. Louis actors. “I was Jim and Tommye Rodemeyer was Sally.
Little Eddie Stemmler played Spud. Sue Cost was Mary Lee Taylor.”
Since the show was heard nationally, the work schedule was a lot more complicated than one might imagine. “We would do a broadcast from the KMOX studios in the morning for every market from St. Louis east. Then we’d come back in the afternoon and do it for everything west. Then we’d go to Technisonic Studios and do one special show for Utah, where Pet Milk was marketed under the name of Sego. That show was transcribed and shipped out.”
And in those days of wearing many professional hats, it was necessary to become a chameleon, adapting to one’s surroundings to meet the needs of station management. In addition to his appearances on a weekly network program, Harry Gibbs also found himself hosting a women’s show on another St. Louis station.
“There was a time when I was doing a morning talk show on KSD. Then I’d head over to KWK for a noon show sponsored by Biederman’s. The concept was that women in the listening audience would come to the studios with the most useless thing they could find in their house and then describe it on the air. The winner would get me for the rest of the day. I did all kinds of chores – whatever they wanted – and then would take them to the Chase for dinner.
“My favorites were two little girls from East St. Louis who won. They wanted to go to the Forest Park Highlands. I rode that roller coaster so much that I could practically drive it from memory by the end of the day.” After several years of a professional roller coaster in St. Louis radio, Harry Gibbs jumped at the chance to host a kids’ show on the newest medium – television.
(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 5/2006.)
You can’t ever tell how Marvin Mueller, announcer at KMOX and star of the Uncle Remus Stories, will greet you. He has a perfectly normal voice but he scarcely ever uses it. One time he says hello or comments on the weather with a distinctly English accent or in a broad German – the next time he’s a tottering old Ozarkian or a kindly old Negro of the Southland. It’s no trick at all he says to change rapidly from one person into another by a simple modulation of the voice but whether it is or not – he’s a real artist at it.
Because of this unusual talent, Marvin figures in all of the dramas produced by the KMOX Players and his characterizations are so perfect that the illusion of the actual presence of as many as ten characters at once is created by him.
Marvin Mueller
During the last four or five months since he’s been at KMOX he has “been” Calvin Coolidge, Joseph of Nazareth, Samuel Insull, Abraham Lincoln, George Bungle, Herbert Hoover as well as several hundred original characterizations. He is now heard as the kindly old Uncle Remus, the Optical Service Physician, and has a full-time announcing position.
He was in charge of a banquet at Washington University several years ago and since he was a constant radio listener, he decided to burlesque several of the most notable programs as a means of entertainment. He couldn’t seem to find the right people to help him with the idea and so he did it all himself! Later he decided to try his hand at radio and as an inspiration, he wrote a play titled “The Adventures of Lord Algy” in which he portrayed a ridiculous Englishman seeing the sights of America. He tried out at KWK and the program was such a success that it ran for twenty weeks.
Since that time he has been on WIL where he was featured in the Pirate Club program as Portugee Joe, Professor Pete, The Spider and other colorful figures.
Marvin is a Junior at Washington University – although he has now abandoned the idea of being an English and French professor – and makes excellent grades. Although he has never had any training in elocution, he is a member of Alpha Phi Omega, the national debating fraternity, and has studied public speaking.
For the most part, aside from his real talent, he is a merry sort of chap with deep brown eyes, brunette hair and a ruddy complexion. He is acclaimed as being one of the best authorities on the presentation of classical music programs on the air because of his studies of foreign languages.
His voice comes to you many times each day in plays or regular programs and if you didn’t know his trick, it would seem that he is a different person each time. As Uncle Remus, he glorifies Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox with a humor that is appealing to all ages of listeners and when the script calls for it, this amazing young man adds the singing of Southern songs to his list of accomplishments.
(Originally published in Radio & Entertainment 3/4/1933)
Bob Thomas’ favorite flavor is chocolate…Danny Seyforth takes vanilla. Those are the only differences between KWK’s Frank and Ernest.
Danny is Frank and Bob is Ernest. They met when Bob was announcing one of Danny’s programs about three years ago, January, 1930. Danny stopped by the studio to renew the friendship. Danny started playing the piano…Bob aired his tenor…they traded gags…and a new act was born.
Their audition was a success, but on the day set for their first broadcast, Danny took sick – grippe – and it was postponed. Then the habit of doing the same thing began with Bob developing the symptoms, and the debut was set ahead another week.
The false starts didn’t mean anything. When they did get going they clicked immediately. The original schedule of two broadcasts a week was increased to three, and then to every weekday.
There’s no professional jealousy, that bugaboo of so many successful teams. When Danny hits a false note, it doesn’t happen often, but Danny’s not perfect – Bob doesn’t beef about it afterwards. If Bob makes a mistake – silence again.
Bob prepares Monday’s jokes and Tuesday’s riddles and they collaborate on the Saturday playettes. Danny creates Margie and her mother on Wednesday and selects the old favorite tunes and poems for Thursday and Friday. He also does all the musical programs as Bob’s sports announcing keeps him pretty busy. For the past two years they have been going south in the spring with the Cardinals and with Bob’s father, Thomas Patrick Convey, president of KWK. They trek along with the ball club and barnstorm all the radio stations along the route. Helps build up their names and fame, and, incidentally, gives Bob and opportunity to get acquainted with the ball club over again in preparation for his sports announcing.
Bob’s five feet nine and 160 pounds, light brown hair, hazel eyes. Danny’s a smaller, darker edition. He wears his moustache on a schedule. He shaved it off for three months because Bob didn’t like it. Now he’s starting it again for another three months. Danny carries an art gum eraser around with him to keep his black and white sports shoes clean. Bob has a passion for singing lead in a trio or quartet. Any time he sees one in a practice session, he joins it, and is immensely proud of himself if he succeeds in carrying the tenor well.
They use the same desk, officially Bob is Robert Thomas Convey, vice president of KWK. They don’t borrow one another’s ties, which may be one reason they never quarrel. But they have sweaters to match and generally buy the same sort of clothes. They both play golf, although Bob goes around in the early eighties and Danny’s score sometimes looks more like a batting average. They swim, too, at the Convey summer home in Kirkwood, where Danny spends most of his time. They like the same type of girl. Blonde or brunette not specified, but no girlish gigglers, please! When they order dinner, it’s just a repetition of “I’ll take the same,” until it comes to the ice cream.
(Originally published in RAE, 6/18/1932)
Harmony Duo Now Heard On Old Judge And Norge Programs Unceasing in their efforts in search for new radio talent through various sources, the Program Department of Station KWK discovered Frank and Ernest – that well known comedy and harmony team who recently celebrated their 200th broadcast after having been on the air for the past ten months. Always on the alert for a new feature, the Program Department immediately recognized in these two young men the ability which they possess. The Department’s confidence has not been betrayed as this team of popular entertainers is now being featured on the David G. Evans Coffee Company program as well as the Norge Company program.
This team is endowed with the ability and talent, and before many months these young men should appear as brilliant stars on the radio horizon.
“Wonderful, magnificent!” exclaims the radio listener as the strains of the theme song of the Norge Company of Missouri filter through the loudspeaker. These programs are heard Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday evenings over KWK.
Featured in these broadcasts is the Viking Orchestra, composed of sixteen of the leading musicians in St. Louis. The guest artists on these programs consist of a baritone, tenor, a blues trio and a harmony comedy team. KWK is to be complimented on these programs as they embody everything musically from grand opera to jazz with the result that these presentations are becoming the most popular on that station.
(Originally published in Radio and Entertainment 12/26/1931).
KWK Introduces World’s Youngest Radio Announcer KWK has the world’s youngest radio announcer. He is 5 years old. His name is Don Cosby and he is the son of Clarence Cosby (general manager of the station).
Last week the baby announcer officiated as master of ceremonies during the broadcast of the Frank and Ernest program, a regular feature at the station. He introduced the program, announced the numbers and closed it, with all the flourish and confidence of a regular announcer.
During the program his mother and father and members of the studio staff watched from the spectators’ section of the studio.
(Originally published in Radio and Entertainment 6/11/1932).
If John Harrington has an ambition tucked away in his upper left hand desk drawer, it’s to be a big time sports announcer, always providing St. Louis is the home base.
Not a spectator sportsman. Looks like a football player and was. Played guard at University of Arkansas. A three-letter man at Kirkwood H.S. Basketball, football and baseball ranked in that order of his affections. Baseball worked its way up with him. An outfielder in his senior year at high without playing at all. Now when he broadcasts Cardinal games, he yells so enthusiastically that Thomas Patrick Convey wants him to pipe down a little.
And it’s not a pose. Talking two to three hours from Sportsman’s Park is a grind, and he prefers to take his baseball on off afternoons without benefit of remote control. Believes nearly every St. Louisan is well educated in the fine points of the game, citing the diminishing number of technical queries received by him and other members of the KWK staff – most of them accounted for by the annual crop of small boys. Never misses a local football game and wishes he could announce them over the air.
Born in New York some 23 years ago, Chicago, then St. Louis became his home. Likes his “Saturday night town” better than any other. His program, if any, includes marrying, a pleasant home in the country, two good automobiles, a salary of around $500 a month, just enough work and plenty of time for play. Doesn’t think he’s bright or ambitious, but isn’t so bashful you’d notice it.
Started this interview by spiking the report that he’s engaged to a beautiful blonde. Dates more than one girl answering that description, anyhow. Also, likes them rather small and dark.
However, he’s letting all kinds of engagements slide until fall when he returns from hermiting it out on the river. Let the mountain come—. He’s living out at Drake with Sterling Harkins, whose wife and baby have gone to Mobile, Ala., for the season, and several other congenials. It’s a forty minute drive to the studios.
Working on an alternating schedule, he’s able to get in lots of swimming, his favorite sport as a participant. Was a life guard at Osage Country Club three summers, the hardest job he ever had.
Oh yes, in case you don’t already know and can’t wait for television, he has curly brown hair, nice blue eyes, turned up nose and the beginning of a swell tan. And he likes spinach.
(Originally published in Radio & Entertainment 5/29/1932)
In the early days of radio, the nights were filled with music, but not just any music. In fact, there were very few records being played.
Those nighttime AM radio signals that skipped across the ether to far points unknown usually carried the live sounds of big bands performing in hotels, and St. Louis radio was no exception.
The first live band broadcast in the country was probably on Detroit’s WWJ September 14, 1920. Most scholars credit Vincent Lopez with being the first band leader to be heard regularly on radio, tracing his first broadcast back to November 27, 1921 on WJZ in New York. This was before St. Louis had regular local stations. He would later be heard on KSD via the NBC radio network.
By the time KSD signed on here, its featured musical group was the orchestra from the Statler Hotel. An article in Greater St. Louis magazine in March of 1923 noted, “High class concerts by bands and orchestras…are a frequent source of delight to this station’s great and far-flung audience.” Remote broadcasts in the late ‘20s originated from the Hotel Jefferson and Hotel St. Regis. Later, in the 1930s, the station would broadcast live remotes of the bands playing at the Meadowbrook Country Club in suburban Overland, often feeding these shows to the NBC Network.
That era, in St. Louis and around the country, was fraught with the economic turbulence of the Great Depression. Few people had what is known today as discretionary income, and the radio provided a cost-free diversion from life’s problems. It also provided free entertainment and escapism. Ironically, in a time of economic depression, radio experienced tremendous growth.
Talk with people who lived in that time and they’ll tell you about the importance of radio in their lives. They’ll also remember the late night big band remotes, and those who lived outside the nation’s cities would listen and dream of a day when they could witness those broadcasts firsthand. By 1934, writes Jim Cox in his book “Music Radio,” surveys showed dance music to be the most popular entertainment form on the radio.
Russ David Orchestra with announcer Sterling Harkins
A quick survey of St. Louis radio station listings in 1932 and 1933 shows numerous nightly big band remotes: KWK – Irving Rose’s Hotel Jefferson Orchestra, Harry Lange’s & Ted Jansen’s orchestras at Forest Park Highlands, Irving Rose & Joseph Reichman performing on the Statler roof in summer; Joe Reichman and the Hotel Chase Orchestra, Ray DeVinney’s Orchestra at Diane’s Club; KMOX – Al Lyons at Meadowbrook, Charlie Booth’s Varsity Club Orchestra from the Skyway Inn, Bobby Meeker’s Hotel Jefferson Orchestra, Joe Reichman’s Orchestra from the Hotel Coronado, Charlie Booth’s Castle Ballroom Orchestra, Ivan Epinoff’s Orchestra from the Coronado Hotel; WIL – Bill Bailey at the Canton Tea Garden, Al Roth at Majestic Gardens, and Jackson-Marable’s Syncopators at Sauter’s Park.
Of course, these broadcast did more than fill air time. They provided advertising for the venues, all of which were competing for the few discretionary dollars the listeners had. The promotion extended to predictable gimmicks like this one described in Radio & Entertainment August 13, 1932:
“It is rumored that Sauter’s Park, whose music is broadcast nightly over WIL will open a second dance floor. Two bands are presented simultaneously every Saturday and Sunday evenings and now they will open a dance floor for old time dances only. The band will feature waltzes, two steps and square dances.”
Big band remotes were standard broadcast fare through the ‘40s and into the early ‘50s, featuring nationally known groups and territory bands. Buddy Moreno, who settled in St. Louis in the ‘50s, made a name for himself on national broadcasts as he and his band headlined network shows from venues in New York, Chicago, and even the Chase Hotel in St. Louis. Harold Koplar hired him and his band in the late ‘50s as the hotel’s band.
In the golden age of radio, the live big band remotes did what radio did best. Couples would turn on the radio and dance in their parlors, experiencing a momentary escape from reality through radio’s theater of the mind.
(Reprinted with permission of the St. Louis Journalism Review. Originally published 3/06)
