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The Old-Time Radio Digest!
Volume 2003 : Issue 139
A Part of the [removed]!
ISSN: 1533-9289
Today's Topics:
Struts and Frets; On Fame [ Charlie Summers <charlie@[removed] ]
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Date: Wed, 2 Apr 2003 23:52:12 -0500
From: Charlie Summers <charlie@[removed];
To: [removed]@[removed]
Subject: Struts and Frets; On Fame
STRUTS AND FRETS
by Harry Bartell
++++
On Fame
Fame, for an actor, generally has about the same life expectancy as an ice
cream cone. Mention the names [removed] Southern and Julia Marlowe, Otis Skinner,
Joseph Jefferson, Modjeska and you draw blanks. And yet these people filled
theaters from New York to the gold rush mining camps in '49. I would venture
to say that if you asked most people today to identify motion picture
megastar Rudolph Valentino the answer would be that he is a mafia boss, yet
more than 26,000 people attended his funeral in 1926. To some extent their
present obscurity may be explained on grounds that they lived in the dark
ages of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. But I got a real jolt
when I found out that theater majors at college level could not identify
Helen Hayes or Alfred Lunt and Lynne Fontanne.
The irony of all this is that it is the names of actors who in their time and
in their wildest dreams never achieved that kind of renown are known and
treasured today. The reason is obvious and two-fold. There is a product known
as magnetic tape and a species known as collectors. Of course a play in a
theater has a life of only hours and all the words written about it later
can't really recreate it. The Paul Munis and the Louise Rainers won Oscars in
motion pictures but films and projectors were expensive and not always
available to the public. It is somewhat better now with the VCR but I am not
aware of any 20,000 unit VCR collections. Although the theater is still very
much alive with its main creative thrust in the regional playhouse; and there
is still an outpouring of films, most of which shouldn't have been poured
out, the entertainment medium with the shortest life span of its own has
turned out to be the best historical file of all. Let's hear it for radio.
It is difficult to retain any kind of perspective on the radio I knew in view
of the current approach to listening or collecting. We never dreamed that
anyone would collect what we were doing just as we could not spend time
analyzing one show too heavily because there was another that demanded our
immediate attention. The only connection we had with tape is the sort of
thing that Joe Kearns once did. He approached an actor, holding about ten
inches of quarter-inch tape in his hand, handed over the tape and said, "I
thought you'd want this. It's the fluff you made on the show last night."
Having a tape or CD in hand makes the listeners a great deal more
knowledgeable about the details of a show or a series or a performance than
the guy who perpetrated it 50 years ago. Answering some of the questions
which I'm asked, I know I sound stupid, but it's the equivalent of my asking
what you had for lunch two years ago last Saturday. And the same difficulty
occurs when asked the most difficult question of all: "What was it like to
work [removed]" Within the time restrictions imposed on putting a program
together, there was not often an opportunity for a great deal of socializing.
It isn't as though the actor had time to leisurely go over religion, politics
and sex with the star and in most cases there was no time for sitting around
for a bull session, drink in hand. When we did repeat shows, the big name
guest stars might have had dinner with the director or his agent but I can't
remember any time one said " Hey, let's all go over to the Brown Derby for
dinner." It was a good chance that the actor might not have been able to pay
for the dinner even if invited.
The ultimate judgment always came down to the question of whether the guest
star was any good. If the show fell apart every actor looked bad. The radio
actor, especially as a beginner, couldn't afford to look bad because he
always had in mind being called for another show in the future. If a movie
star loused up, he was paid his $2,500 and went back to films. The actor
received his $75 and started looking for another job. The only way he could
audition for some of the advertising agencies which at one time controlled
radio shows was to march up to the director-producer's office, say a most
cheery "Good Morning" and ask the secretary to notify her boss that he was
going to be on a show that night and ask that said boss listen. If he had
worked for the director before but not recently it was the same march but a
different message: "I just wanted to say hello." Which translated into why
the hell hasn't he called me?
With all the satisfaction that radio afforded me, knowing that I had taken
some marks on a piece of paper and made them into a unique human being, I
could never overlook the fact that this was a means of making a living. There
were no holidays. Radio worked on Sundays and holidays. It made for some
tight situations at home when the family had planned an outing and Dad got a
call which he couldn't turn down because he never knew when the next one
would be and the rent had to be paid. Maybe that, among other reasons, is why
almost every actor I knew was divorced. Fame had nothing to do with it.
I have my own personal Hall of Fame. I won't even attempt to name them all
because I know I would forget too many. I could never forget Jeannette Nolan.
She had the uncanny ability to sound absolutely authentic in whatever part
she tackled, even on the screen where she projected the image of a bag lady
or a queen with equal ease. In person she was warm and friendly, certainly
not beautiful in the classic sense. For one thing she had spent too much time
working on a Montana ranch with her husband John McIntire each summer. She
had a natural dignity and a built-in kindness. There was also another side to
Jeannette. She provided one of the great moments in my life as an actor. We
were doing an episode of Crime Classics, Elliott Lewis directing. There was a
scene in which the cast was to ad lib off-mike. Each actor had his own
approach to that art form. Hans Conried usually said, "Well, here we are at
the bottom of a well!" Others used "Hubba, hubba" or "Spinach!" In this case,
the ad libs were a bit more organized. It was to be a mob yelling for the
release of a prisoner. Jen was standing just behind my right shoulder. While
I was shouting "Free him! Free him!" she cut loose in the wonderful old-lady
voice of hers with "Hang the son of a bitch!" I fell apart.
Virginia Gregg was a joy to work with. It seems incredible that she started
out as a bass viol player and I don't know how she made the transition to the
actor she became. For many years, the only record I had of my work was an air
check at 78 RPM of a show from 1943 in which we played sweethearts. I still
treasure it even if I can no longer play it. Ginny was a giving person and it
showed in her performances. Whether she played a shrew or a lover or a
killer, when you stood on the other side of a microphone in a scene with her
you always felt that she was protecting your performance as well as her own.
It made for the kind of interplay that was exciting. In spite of the great
strength of her performances Ginny was personally vulnerable to hurts she
didn't deserve. The last time I saw her she was quite ill and radio had long
since departed When we were comparing experiences she looked at Bev and said,
"Yes, but there are the two of you." In spite of being married more than once
and having three children I think Ginny never found the twoness she was
looking for. But she was one hell of an actor.
I was extremely fortunate to be a part of two ensembles which contained many
of the same actors. One was a loose company which played on Gunsmoke and the
other on Dragnet. If anyone had a real pride in what he was doing there was
always a tension brought on by limited working time no matter how often he
faced a microphone. In a way that wasn't all bad. It brought a kind of energy
to a performance. At the same time if he knew that he could depend completely
on other actors if he got into trouble, it allowed him more freedom to listen
to the other characters. And therein lay the secret: to listen. It is one of
the hardest things to get over to a beginner. The great ones do more by
reacting than they do by acting.
Being involved on a personal friendship basis makes it difficult to form an
impartial judgment of an actor's ability. That is why there is nothing here
about Elliott Lewis or Bill Conrad. It is much easier fifty years later when
you can listen to long-forgotten performances and hear them fresh, frequently
without knowing who played what until the end credits. Now I can take off my
hat to a bunch which included, among others in no particular order, Larry
Dobkin, John Dehner, Sam Edwards, Jack Kruschen, Vic Perrin, Herb Ellis, Ben
Wright, Bill Conrad, Parley Baer, Howard McNear, and Lou Krugman.
- ------------------
Harry Bartell maintains that his major accomplishment as a professional actor
for forty years was to survive with his mind, morale and marriage intact.
Born in 1913 in New Orleans, he grew up in Houston and graduated Phi Beta
Kappa from Rice University in 1933. After a stint at Harvard Business School
and a couple of years forced labor in a department store he moved to
Hollywood and stayed there for the next fifty-one years. Three seasons at the
Pasadena Playhouse led to work in 185 radio series and 77 TV series plus a
dozen or so properly forgettable motion pictures.
This article will be archived at:
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End of [removed] Digest V2003 Issue #139
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