During my formative years, I pretty much vegetated in front of a television set. This explains why many people don’t quite consider me…oh, normal is probably the best word to use, I guess. (On the other hand, I’m usually the first person called on to be a partner in Trivial Pursuit, so six of one, half a dozen of another…)

I’ve watched a lot of Warner Brothers cartoons in my lifetime. So many that I know some of them backwards and forwards, and again, that’s where that “Honey, I don’t think the Shreve is boy is normal” thing crops up again. I’m sure some of you have seen a classic Bugs Bunny cartoon called Rabbit’s Kin (1952), in which the wascally wabbit outsmarts (as if that would be hard to do) a puma named Pete (“Oh, I’ll take a whoooole lotta lumps!”) The uncredited voice of the puma belongs to the one and only Stan Freberg, but Stan cribbed it from a comedian-singer named Frank Fontaine; Fontaine got his big show business break playing a mentally-challenged guy named John L.C. Sivoney, who makes his debut in the first of two Jack Benny broadcasts I listened to last night, originally heard over CBS on April 9, 1950.

When I discuss The Jack Benny Program with fellow fans, I’m often wont to point out that the beauty of the show is that the characters are so ingrained in the minds of the listening audience, the mere mention of them or their attributes is enough generate genuine mirth. To illustrate with an example, here’s an exchange from two of Jack’s prized stooges, Mel Blanc and Sara Berner, who portray a soda jerk and waitress in a drugstore located right near the CBS studios:

MERVYN: Uh-oh…get ready for business…here comes Jack Benny and some of his cast…

FLOSSIE: Oh gee, celebrities…who are they?

MERVYN: Dennis Day, Don Wilson, Phil Harris and Jack Benny…you see? They’re startin’ across the street…

FLOSSIE: Oh, yeah…which one is Jack Benny?

MERVYN: The one who looks like he won’t make it…hey, ya better set a table for ‘em…

FLOSSIE: Okay, Mervyn…gimme four glasses of water…

MERVYN: You’ll only need three…one of ‘em never touches the stuff…

Jack leaves the drugstore, and decides to walk home—when he encounters a panhandler who asks him if he can spare a dime for a cup of coffee. The smallest thing Jack has is fifty cents, so he gives it to him. After chatting with Mr. Kitzel (Artie Auerbach)—he mentions his generosity to the beggar—he arrives home, where he can’t wait to tell Rochester of his good deed for the day as well:

JACK: Oh, say Rochester—on the way home…

ROCHESTER: Uh, excuse me, boss…I want to put these clean dishes away…

JACK: All right…Rochester, you know, on my way home…some poor fellow asked me for a dime…

ROCHESTER: Uh-huh…

JACK: …but I gave him fifty cents! (SFX: crash of dishes) Rochester, why did you drop those dishes? All I said was I gave a man fifty cents…(SFX: more dishes crashing) Rochester! You didn’t have to push that second stack off the drainboard!

ROCHESTER: I didn’t touch ‘em, they jumped off by themselves!!!

The crashing of the dishes becomes this episode’s “boomerang” gag, as Jack readies himself for bed:

JACK: “Dear diary…today, I did a wonderful thing…a needy person asked me for a dime for a cup of coffee and I gave him fifty cents…” (SFX: crash of dishes, running, door opening) Rochester, what happened in the kitchen?

ROCHESTER (off): I don’t know—I’m in bed!!!

Jack is soon fast asleep, and he dreams that a testimonial dinner is being held in his honor of his generosity, presided over by Winston Churchill and featuring tributes from James Cagney, Cary Grant and Ronald Colman. With the exception of Colman (who’s played by Dennis Day), Fontaine displays a amazing talent for mimicry by impersonating the other celebrities, and also performs a routine as Sivoney by telling those assembled that he actually took the fifty cents and bought a sweepstakes ticket. I decided not to transcribe the dialogue here, though, because it’s not the content that makes Sivoney funny, it’s the voice—which sounds vaguely like a combination of Bowery bum and a prize fighter who’s taken too many hits to the head.

Frank returns to Benny’s program on April 30, 1950—which is the second broadcast I previewed last night. He shows up at Jack’s back door looking for food and when Jack tells him there isn’t any in the house. Sivoney remarks that he could have sworn he heard someone plucking a chicken. This is a comical reference to Jack’s violin playing; Benny is scheduled to go on a promotion tour with his instrument soon, and as the shows opens, he’s anxiously awaiting the arrival of his violin teacher, Professor Andre LeBlanc. The last time Jack played his violin in public was before an audience at the London Paladium and he remarks: “I want to get my fingers back in shape.” This prompts Rochester to crack, “Why…what did they do to ‘em?” Finally, the Professor makes his appearance:

JACK: Well! Professor LeBlanc, I’ve been waiting for you…

LEBLANC: Hello, Monsieur Benny…I’m sorry that I am late…

JACK: That’s all right…have you had lunch?

LEBLANC: I never eat before I give you a lesson…

JACK: Oh…shall we go in the den?

LEBLANC: Oui…

JACK: By the way, Professor…I had new hair put on my violin bow…

LEBLANC: Is it good hair?

JACK: Oh, yes…yes, the man at the music store said it won the Kentucky Derby twice…

LEBLANC: Please…I am a violin teacher, not a straight man…

Throughout the lesson, Jack finds himself constantly interrupted by his cast: Mary, Phil, Dennis, etc. In Dennis’ case, however, it’s worth it—Day performs “The Horse Told Me” by digging into his bag of impressions: Jimmy Durante, Ronald Colman, Jerry Colonna and Bert Gordon (“The Mad Russian.”) But all this time, LeBlanc—who would rather undergo root canal than be subjected to Benny’s scraping on the violin—grows more and more impatient:

LEBLANC: Monsieur Benny…please…let us call the lesson finis…

JACK: No, no, no, Professor…I want to be perfect when I start my personal appearance tour…

LEBLANC: This tour you are making…how many places will you appear in?

JACK: Oh, twenty-one different cities…

LEBLANC: Oh, then that should take up the entire summer…

JACK: No, no, Professor…I’m going to appear only one night in each city…

LEBLANC: That I can understand…

The writers also manage to recycle an earlier joke from an April 29, 1945 broadcast—which served, coincidentally, as Professor LeBlanc’s debut—but they add a nice, new twist:

JACK: Oh…uh, tell me, Professor…do you really think you can make a great violinist out of me?

LEBLANC: Well, I think I can do something…but it will take time…how old are you?

JACK: Why?

LEBLANC: How much time have we got left?

JACK: Oh…well, look, Professor—if you don’t feel that you’re capable of teaching me the violin, why do you keep taking money from me?

LEBLANC: I feel that that in itself is an accomplishment…

The fortunes of Frank Fontaine became quite rosy after his appearances on The Jack Benny Program; although an audition program from July 1948 is in OTR circulation, his big break came in the summer of 1952, when his self-titled variety show served as a replacement for CBS Radio’s The Charlie McCarthy Show. Fontaine resurfaced in the early 1960s as well, playing a Sivoney-like character named Crazy Guggenheim on Jackie Gleason’s American Scene Magazine variety program from 1962-66. “Craze” was a denizen of the dive where Joe the Bartender (Gleason) served up drinks, and after performing a comedy sketch, would often do a musical number designed to show audiences he had a pretty impressive set of pipes. An album, Songs I Sing on the Jackie Gleason Show, lasted an entire year on the record charts and spent five weeks at number one in March of 1963.
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“Friendship, friendship…just a perfect blendship…”

If you’ve ever been curious as to where the popular “blonde joke” phenomenon originated, the radio sitcom My Friend Irma just might be as good a place to start as any. From April 11, 1947 to August 23, 1954 (over CBS Radio), actress Marie Wilson starred—and was later typecast—as Irma Peterson, a lovably dumb stenographer who shared zany misadventures in a New York apartment with her more sensible, down-to-earth roommate Jane Stacy (Cathy Lewis). The show was written, produced and created by Cy Howard, and became a certifiable smash hit—thanks to its fortuitous timeslot, scheduled right after CBS’ popular Lux Radio Theater.

Irma Peterson has often been likened to famous radio screwballs like Gracie Allen and Jane Ace, but there’s really not much of a comparison to be made. As John Dunning writes in On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio, Irma “had neither the malapropian qualities of Ace nor the dubiously screwy logic of Allen.” Irma was, as we used to say in West Virginia, “dumber than a sled track.” For example, when roommate Jane suggests replacing the apartment’s wall brackets with a bridge lamp for better lighting, Irma responds: “But, Jane—what if we want to play gin rummy?” (After television’s flavor-of-the-month Jessica Simpson uttered her now-famous comment about “Chicken of the Sea,” I was convinced that she was channeling the spirit of Irma Peterson herself.)

Irma may have been a few sandwiches shy of a picnic, but she did possess a friendly, naïve sweetness—even Jane, whom she often drove to distraction with her idiocy, was her fiercest protector. In the first (from January 26, 1948) of two broadcasts that entertained me at work last night, Jane is trying once again to discourage her chum’s romantic relationship with her hustler boyfriend, Al (no last name, but played to seedy perfection by veteran radio actor John Brown). Jane’s been reading the newspaper and has come across a blurb containing a quiz on compatibility:

IRMA: Oh no, Jane, please—please read me some of the questions…cause I’ve been very worried about how Al and I will get along after we’re married…

JANE: Oh, Irma…are you still thinking seriously about marrying that unemployed moocher?

IRMA: Oh…what can I do, Jane? I love him! Ever since I’ve known him I’ve been in a trance…

JANE: Oh, come now…you haven’t known him that long…I mean…well, honey, you know, if you’re really worried about how the two of you will get along, why don’t you try this test on yourself?

IRMA: Oh, I want to, Jane—please read it to me…

JANE: All right, sweetie…let me see…uh…does the man you intend to marry keep appointments? Is he punctual?

IRMA: Punctual? Why, Al is in line for his unemployment check even before the office is open…

JANE: Mark down one…

IRMA: One…

JANE: Yeah…now…is he the type of man you would ever be ashamed to be seen with?

IRMA: No…because we never go anyplace…

JANE: No…no, honey…if you want to take this test you’ve gotta be honest with yourself…now, what do your friends think of Al?

IRMA: What do I care? I can get new friends…

JANE: Well, you better give yourself a zero on that one…

IRMA: Gee, this is just like school—I’m getting zeros again…

Al, who affectionately calls Irma “Chicken,” was a grade-A, first class, dyed-in-the-wool bum. To him, work was a four-letter word, and the only ambition he ever exhibited was numerous attempts to pull off one of his “deals,” a never-ending string of get-rich-quick schemes like a racing form printed on a large cookie (“so after a day at the track, you still got somethin’ to eat…”). Jane points out to Irma that, according to the newspaper article, she and Al have nothing in common—Irma likes dancing, Al doesn’t; Irma enjoys attending the theater, Al doesn’t (unless he has a pass). So when Al drops by, Irma decides its do-or-die time:

IRMA: Al…I would like go to the theater tonight…will you please take me?

AL: Chicken—why this sudden request?

IRMA: Al, it’s very important for us—you see, you and I are psychological cases…

AL: Whaddya talkin’ about, Chicken?

IRMA: Al…please take me to the theater…

AL: But Chicken…why can’t we just sit here on the sofa and…discuss world politics?

IRMA: Al, I insist you take me to the theater…

AL: But honey, I haven’t got a pass…they got a big doorman…and to clinch it, they’re paintin’ the fire escape…

IRMA: Well, let’s pay our way in…

AL: Pay? Chicken, you are tamperin’ with my principles…

IRMA: It’s no use, Al…we have nothing in common…we might as well face it, you and I need a scientific inspection…

AL: What?

IRMA: We’re not combustible…

Irma breaks up with Al, and is immediately crushed—both Jane and the girls’ upstairs neighbor, Professor Kropotkin (Hans Conried), attempt to console her but to no avail. Kropotkin, a violinist who worked at a gypsy tea room, made his entrance on the show each week by knocking softly on Jane and Irma’s apartment door and—in a Russian accent—meekly saying, “It’s only me, Professor Kropotkin.” (He would also toss a little flattery their way: “Hello, Janie and Irma—my two little jigsaw puzzles…one complete, and one a few pieces are missing.”) The professor conducted a long-running feud with landlady Mrs. O’Reilly (Gloria Gordon—mother of Gale, though Jane Morgan also played the part briefly in the show’s beginning), a feisty Irish battleaxe who traded insults with the musician from week to week.

While Irma wallows in misery after her break-up with Al, her friend Amber Lipscott (Bea Benaderet) stops by and convinces Irma to join the Lonely Hearts Club, because “this town is crummy with guys.” (Amber only made occasional appearances on Irma, which is a shame because I thought she was a funny character; Benaderet even does her famous Betty Rubble laugh in this episode.) So, as Number 75, Irma engages in correspondence with Number 33322, and when Jane suggests that it’s time for the two to meet face-to-face, she arranges for the two numbers to dine with her and her boss—and potential husband, if Jane could have her way—Richard Rhinelander III (Leif Erickson). At dinner, it is revealed that 33322 is—wait for it—none other than Al himself. In the second broadcast, from February 16, 1948, Kropotkin composes a concerto—but he can’t get anyone to publish it. Jane and Richard attempt to help him out by talking to a music publisher friend of his, Jed Leeds (Reed), and Irma and Al attempt to do the same, by putting words to the music. (This gives Al an opportunity to call his shady pal Joe, which usually resulted in the weekly catchphrase: “Hello, Joe? Al…got a problem…”)

Producer Cy Howard’s other successful comedy smash (debuting about a year later) was Life With Luigi, which was similar to Irma in that they both depicted innocents coping in the big city. (According to veteran comedy writer Parke Levy, who wrote most of the scripts for the radio My Friend Irma, the series also had more than a passing familiarity with the play and movie My Sister Eileen; CBS ended up settling in a lawsuit when Eileen’s creator took them to court.) There were numerous crossover actors on the two series: Conried, who played Kropotkin, also played Luigi’s German pal Schultz, and Alan Reed—who portrayed the scheming Pasquale—was Irma’s cranky and ever-frustrated boss, Mr. Clyde. In 1953, when Cathy Lewis bailed out of both the radio and TV versions of Irma, actress Mary Shipp joined the cast as Irma’s new roommate Kay Foster—Shipp had played night school teacher Miss Spaulding on Howard’s Life With Luigi as well.

As mentioned previously, My Friend Irma did make the transition to TV, beginning January 8, 1952 (with Lewis, Wilson and Gordon all making the leap to the video version)—but it was a very short-lived series, lasting only until June 25, 1954. The dizzy Irma had much more success in the movies, however—Paramount released My Friend Irma to theater screens in 1949, and a sequel followed in 1950, My Friend Irma Goes West. Of the radio cast, only Wilson and Conried were kept—though Gordon makes a very brief cameo in the first film, and Conried is nowhere to be found in the second. Conried only got the part when the original actor, Felix Bressart (To Be or Not to Be), died during shooting. Both were successful box-office hits, but today, they’re remembered for only one thing—they were the earliest movies to feature the brand-new comedy team of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.
12:20:54 PM    comment []  trackback []