Just in case you missed the first time . . .
- 6 June: D-Day On the Air—73 Years Later
- 31 December: Here’s to the New Year
- 24 December: ‘Tis the night before Christmas
- 20 December: From Macy’s to Dickens on the plains
- 12 December: Eden rocked
- 9 December: The aftermath, continued . . .
- 8 December: Immediate aftermath
- 7 December: The date still lives in infamy
- 5 December: The mean widdle man-kid
- 21 November: Freed fall
We’re building a history here . . .
Tag Archives: Ronald Colman
Until Franklin D. Roosevelt, network broadcasting has yet to address the death of a sitting President of the United States. As Edward R. Murrow would say of the United States a decade later, radio comes into its full inheritance at a tender age as it is, but World War II and the death of FDR have combined to tax that inheritance powerfully. It’s to radio’s credit that it has responded to both as powerfully, as effectively, and as memorably as few might have expected when network radio began taking its full shape a decade earlier.
A nation, if not a world choked with grief, says final farewells and offers tributes to President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
They include, and we begin with, a soon-to-be nationally famous broadcast entertainer whose later reputation for petulance and off-mike tyranny will astonish those who know him on air as the folksy, almost neighbourly type—who turns out to have been far more beholden to FDR than anyone knows at the time.
“Someday,” Don Quinn will tell a 1965 panel of American comedy writers, three years before he will die himself, “I hope to write the definitive work on comics, comedians, and humourists . . .”
A comic is a strange and fascinating breed; almost always from the wrong side of the tracks; no education—anything for a laugh . . . A cut above him, the comedian, who’s a little more literate, a little more educated . . . And, above the comedian, is the humourist. They fall pretty well into categories.
Already familiar (too much so, to his faculty and his students) as imperious blowhard high school principal Osgood Conklin on Our Miss Brooks, Gale Gordon more or less kicks himself upstairs when he accepts a recurring role, quite on the side, in a show for which he’d originally auditioned as the program’s lead.
It might seem peculiar, considering his entrenchment as Conklin, but Gordon was actually considered for The Halls of Ivy‘s lead, when creator Don Quinn (Fibber McGee & Molly) arranged to cut an audition disc in 1949.
Even quiet bigotry requires shattering, and few do so better than this remarkable, literate series, which does so tonight quietly but firmly and without lapsing into preachiness.