Evening Star Newspaper, September 21, 1930, Page 89

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C., SEPTEMBER 2i, jo i 8 y 1 L - st e e v — Air Battles of the Radio Starsi How Rival Broadcasting Stations Have to Array Entertainers in Nightly Bouts to Capture Public Favor. “The toughest spot in the air” For competitors it is the period when Amos and Andy entertain. Station directors were puzzled until along came the Crocketts from the hills. They leaped into the “tough spot” and stayed there. OR some months vigorous air battles have been raging right over your own roof-tops. To be sure, no planes have been engaged and few sounds have escaped to the public for whose favor the en- counters have been staged. The campaigns are planned in handsomely eqiuped New York offices and the leaders of the combatants are well tailored gents with that fresh-from-the-barber-shop appearance. Their maneuverings are as difficult to get exact in- formation on as the strategy of military lead- ers in wartime. What goes on behind the lines is not often revealed. Who, for instance, has heard of the “battle of Amos 'n’ Andy”? Any number of words have been written around this fabulous team of radio entertainers during the past half year. The vast fan pub- lic, eager for any sidelights on their favorites, has fairly devoured all sorts of information concerning them. Yet, to the best of my knowl- edge, this 1s the first time it has been brought to the attention of the millions of Amos 'n’ Andy followers that some of the shrewdest minds in the radio broadecasting business worked overtime many a night trying to figure out wavs and means of meeting their stiff competi- ticr. _a radio circles, th., catl the Amos 'n’ Andy hour “the toughest spot in the air.” Aviatora may have thought at one time cr another that they had encountered bad air pockets, or twist- ers, or particularly adverse winds, but “the toughest spot” is that of the entertainers who have to go on the air at the same time that the black-face entertainers are doing their nightly act. AND there's the argument of “who crooned first,” with Rudy Vallee and Will Osborne as the chief combatants. This, to be sure, did reach the courts and already has involved mil- lions of dollars, with theater folk and radio folk pilting crooner against crooner. There's the skirmishing to get the heroes of great exploits and the various front-page fig- ures beicre the microphone. There are, in short, a dozen-affi-one lively combats going on all the time behind the scenes of the major broad- casting studios from which all the Nation is reached on an elaborate network of stations. Take, for instance, the “inside” on the Amos 'n’ Andy competition. And consider the prob- One of the bitterest battles of the air concerns Rudy Vallee, one of the aces of the ether, and though it is being fought with megaphones and manda- muses rather than machine guns, it is no less sha-p. Words by GILBERT SWAN. Sketches by GEORGE CLARK. R R Albert Crockett, one of the mountaincer clan which defied Amos 'n’ Andy, decided that since he was in the city he might as well settle down. But he selected a bride from the hills, and he married the Pineville, Ky., girl before the big city microphone. lems invoived. Broadcasting as they did and do, there were many who would have you be- lieve that most of the homes of America drop- ped everything from supper to theatergoing to hear the latest account of the Fresh Air Taxi Co.'s adventures. All of which issues each night over the NBC network. But Columbia, with another national chain, couldn’t just fold up its tent and consider this particular period of the day canceled. Thanks to broadcasting, time has actually become worth money. The “time-is-money” gag is far more than a phrase in these days when some 20 out of the 24 hours are on the market at specific rates. And who, pray, was going to buy time when Amos and Andy were presumed to be attract- ing most of the attention at a certain period of the evening? And what, pray, was any one going to do about it? What could possibly be put up by way of competition? Small wonder that the gents in the smartly tailored suits sat up nights rubbing their heads. There are no quotations from these officials to be had, for what went on in the conference rooms never came out excep: in whispers. But this, that and the other stunt was considered and all sorts of features were tried. ERHAPS one of the most amusing phases of the situation was that the feature finally placed upon the ozone in “the toughest spot” was neither a nationally known artist nor a super-costiy feature. It was, oddly enough, a family group from the hills, the members of which realized little or nothing of the part they were being called upon to play in a major engagement of the entertainment war upon the air. They were quite suddenly, moved into the very hour when Amos and Andy were up to their pranks and there the Crockett Mountaineers have remained —for better or for worse—singing old tunes, such as “Pop Goes the Weazel,” fiddling the hill songs and doing their backwoods stunts. What they had to offer wore the trade-mark of Americana; it was definitely native and a contrast from the vogue of sophistication which had been spreading over the nation. And the officials will tell you, off office hours, that the Crocketts, perhaps quiet unaware of the diffi- culty of their position, went ahead with a gusto. But once they were found to be making friends, a rather difficuit and unforseen situa- tion immediately arose. begin with, the Crocketts came from a little world of their own near Sharpsburg, Ky., 'way back in the mountains—six of them, a father and five sons, transplanted from hill- billy simplicity into the theater and thence into New York and the radio contract. Lomg, lean, angular men who are timid in conversa- tion, confused by the city’s overwhelming noises and far from keen toward the idea of becoming members of a confusing metropolitan civiliza= tion. The domos who had decided to use them as shock troops in the skirmish had also to provide them, from time to time, with food and quarters which would keep them in the city. They missed their hominy bread and home-baked ham; their yellow corn meal and their molasses. Expeditions into city stores were organized to provide them with the foods they wanted and portions of their spare time were dedicated to the nearby New Jersey hills. Albert, one of the young men of the quaint clan, decided that if he was going to have to stay in the city he’d better marry and settle down. The girl of his choice was back in the moun=- tains from whence he had come. Her name was Josephine Phillips and her habitat was a spot near Pineville, Ky. The radio domos, wanting to give Josephine a taste of the big city, staged a wedding dinner in a smart cafe. Jazz bands crooned one moment and plaintive songs of the hills came incongruously between. The bride had been hustled away in such a hurry she forgot her wedding dress. This was loaned at the last moment by Yolande Long- worthy, who appears in the “Arabesque” num- ber. Such talents as they possess grew out of the social requirements and needs of their little hill communities. They had played and sung for themselves and their neighbors; they had led the square dances of their settlement; un- < Spoiled and untutored, knowing as little about Continued on Nineteenth Page Will Osborne burned up like a roll off camera film when Rudy's book took a« good rap at “other small and unknown broadcasting orchestra leaders,” and he ‘has been dueling with Rudy ever since on the subject of “Who crooned firss?