IT'S MAKE BELIEVE BALLROOM TIME

Here's what I recall about listening to radio in the years before television took over. 12/21/2016

IT’S MAKE BELIEVE BALLROOM TIME

Woody Allen's movie, Radio Days, captures the essence of what radio meant to the public during the late '30s and '40s. Some radio broadcasts kept my ears glued to the speaker. During my pre-teen years, I listened with rapt attention to many of the famous adventure serials that aired daily. I lived and died with the exploits of Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy, as well as The Lone Ranger, Renfrew of the Mounties, and The Shadow. I wanted my parents to buy all their advertised products in order to acquire the gifts they offered by mailing in a box-top. On one occasion, Little Orphan Annie sent me her decoder ring. The secret message read, "Drink Ovaltine," the name of her sponsor’s product. That marketing ploy made me cynical of all advertisers, but I am glad they footed the bill to make it possible for me to listen to the radio for free.

I loved listening to comedy program. I tried never to miss hearing Fred Allen, Jack Benny, Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, Amos and Andy, and laughed at the predictable crashing sound that happened every time Fibber McGee opened his closet door and things fell out. Duffy’s Tavern, whose bartender character Archie made many witty remarks, gave rise to my English teacher dubbing me with that moniker as I always joked around in her class.

Musical radio programs drew most of my attention. I could have spent Saturday mornings listening to the Metropolitan Opera broadcast but opted instead to listen to less classical music. Five nights a week, from 5:30 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. I religiously listened to the Make Believe Ballroom, hosted by disc jockey Martin Bloch, on WNEW. He played both sides of two records over a 15-minute time span, featuring just one band or singer. That way, the audience heard four songs of one artist, and then four of another. I hated it when he would delay playing my favorite bands or singers, and I had to listen to music not to my taste.

At an early age, I came to enjoy jazzy music. I loved big band swing, and became enamored of the quirky original compositions played by Raymond Scott and his Quintet. Recently, I purchased a CD that included almost all of the songs for which he had become famous. Those off the wall melodies still tickle my ear.

My sister and I listened to The Hit Parade every Saturday night. It featured the NBC orchestra led by Mark Warnow (Raymond Scott’s brother), playing the ten highest rated or best selling songs that week, complete with a drum roll when they announced Number One. My sister used the broadcast to hone her shorthand skills, writing down the lyrics to each song which we would attempt to sing afterwards.  

I considered myself a “hep” cat before turning thirteen. I stayed up very late, usually between 11:00 p.m. and midnight, in order to hear the broadcasts from many venues in and around New York City that featured the big bands such as those led by Glen Gray, Claude Thornhill, Woody Herman, Henry Bussey, Hal Kemp, Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Woody Herman, and Duke Ellington, to name but a few. 

A few orchestras really soured me because they played such corny tunes. Guy Lombardo headed my hate list. I threw him in my musical dumpster to which I later added Lawrence Welk.

My interest in popular music declined once be-bop arrived on the scene. I empathized with Benny Goodman, who said after hearing Dizzy Gillespie play an endless number of notes that bore no resemblance to swing, “So, this is my heritage?” Blow it out your horn, Dizzy.

When you raise six children and wind up with nine grandchildren, you become well acquainted with the music of their generations. I have heard, over and over, all the songs recorded by the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and countless rock and roll “artists.” I have heard, repeatedly, the hits produced by Billy Joel, The Eagles, Elvis, Elton John and more. I have come to enjoy some, but not all, of their music. My son, Joey, found it surprising that I loved the instrumental, Free Bird, as an example. And the raspy voice of Janice Joplin.

Louis Armstrong, or perhaps Duke Ellington, said there is no good or bad music, just music. The same may be said of food. Broccoli may be good for me, but I prefer peas. I do not enjoy listening to much of today’s music, in particular anything that people call hip-hop. I don’t think it is hip, and it does not make me wish to hop. I grew up on a diet of big band swing and hunger for more. Unfortunately, the radio stations rarely cater to my musical memories. It is not a problem for me. Those songs still reverberate in my brain.

I can hear it now, Benny Goodman’s opening theme song, Let’s Dance!

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