In thumbing through my old-time radio collection in search of programs that I haven’t already discussed here at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear, I came across a box-set of Eddie Cantor broadcasts that I obtained sometime back from Radio Spirits. (These shows were part of a series of electrical transcriptions that Brian Gari, Cantor’s grandson, had rescued from a friend’s storage locker and were previously presumed lost.) I’m not entirely certain why I made this purchase; it’s not that I dislike Cantor, it’s just that he’s usually standing somewhere near the back of the line when it comes to my favorite comedians of Radio’s Golden Age.

My indifference to Eddie might be explained by the fact that most of his broadcasts that I’ve listened are those from the 1940s. I have, in a sense, been subjected to what OTR historian Elizabeth McLeod describes in a splendid online article as “diluted” Cantor; his broadcasts from the 1930s are a completely different animal:

Cantor's reputation among the Old Time Radio community has largely rested on his 1940s work, and while these shows are pleasant listening there's nothing to explain precisely why this odd little man with the bulging eyes had so captured the imagination of listeners a decade earlier. The really important Cantor material, the Chase and Sanborn Hour programs of 1931-34, had long been thought lost, and with them had been lost any chance for modern audiences to understand exactly what all the excitement was about.

(snip)

Now, however, modern listeners can finally tune back to the early 1930s and get a taste of the Cantor who gripped the attention of Depression-era audiences like no other solo star. "The Eddie Cantor Chase & Sanborn Radio Show 1931-33" (Original Cast Records OC-8715) is a four-CD set collecting some of the most historically-valuable OTR material ever reissued.

The set consists of one essentially-complete program, from December 1931, and the comedy segments of six other shows, from November and December 1933. The Chase and Sanborn Hour during this period was an unusual split format -- approximately half the show devoted to Cantor's comedy, and the other half to the music of David Rubinoff and his Orchestra. By 1933, Cantor was only paying to have the comedy segments recorded, so these shows only survive in truncated form. Full-length or condensed, however, these programs are a revelation. Here is the full-strength, non-decaffinated Eddie Cantor: a performer of boundless energy who literally can't stand still. In the 1933 recordings, Cantor is all over the stage -- jumping, bouncing, singing, dancing, often overwhelming the live audience with the sheer force of his personality -- just as he did in his legendary string of Broadway successes during the 1920s.

Eddie Cantor—affectionately nicknamed “Banjo Eyes”—was at one time in his career one of the most popular individuals in show business, a triple-threat entertainer who enjoyed phenomenal success on stage, in movies, and over the airwaves. Born in 1892, he endured a life of hardscrabble poverty, an orphan raised in a tenement slum on New York’s Lower East Side. The performing bug bit young Eddie while he was still in school, and soon he began earning pocket change singing on street corners—graduating to performing at weddings, socials and amateur nights a short while after. He even worked as a singing waiter at a Coney Island establishment, where he made fast friends with the joint’s piano player—Jimmy Durante.

Cantor then became a fixture in both burlesque and vaudeville, and under the legendary Flo Ziegfeld appeared in the impresario’s Follies productions of 1917, 1918 and 1919. Eddie’s relationship with the great showman was frequently stormy, but his reconciliation with Ziegfeld was responsible for two stage triumphs: the 1923 production of Kid Boots (which later became the basis for his first feature film in 1926, co-starring Clara Bow), and the 1928 smash Whoopee! (also brought to the silver screen in 1930).

From these stage successes, it was merely a hop, skip and a jump to conquering radio, and although Cantor had headlined a few isolated broadcasts in the 1920s, his big break is generally attributed to a guest appearance on Rudy Vallee’s Fleischmann Hour on February 5, 1931. (Rudy often facetiously referred to Eddie as a Vallee “discovery,” though Cantor was already a national figure at this point in his career.) The folks at Chase & Sanborn auditioned Eddie on-the-air for four weeks to see if he could replace their program’s departing star, Maurice Chevalier. Although Cantor knew that, in the words of Will Rogers, “radio is too big a thing to be out of,” the reality of radio's power didn’t hit him until he applied the mathematics much later:

Say you played in a Ziegfeld show at the New Amsterdam Theater, which seats 1,600. In a week, you play to 13,000. Play that Ziegfeld show for 50 weeks, you would play to 650,000. If you played it for ten years, you’d play to 6½ million. In 20 years, it would 13 million. And if you played if for 40 years to packed houses, standing room only, you’d play to less people in 40 years than you played to in one night on The Chase and Sanborn Hour.

Cantor assumed the stewardship of NBC’s Chase and Sanborn Hour on September 13, 1931, and his Sunday night hour soon raced to the ratings top spot, surpassing the audience of Rudy Vallee and even that of Amos ‘n’ Andy. During his 1932-33 season, Cantor enjoyed a Crossley rating of 58.6—the highest ever recorded, though industry skepticism at such a feat soon led to the displacement of Crossley as the yardstick by which listening audiences were measured. But whatever faults inherent in the Crossley ratings, Eddie did have a sizeable listenership, and his program soon blazed the trail for his vaudeville contemporaries (Al Jolson, Ed Wynn, Fred Allen, Jack Benny, etc.) to take the plunge into radio.

Like Rudy Vallee, Cantor often prided himself on the “discovery” of new talent. He took credit for introducing George Burns and Gracie Allen to the public (although the famed comedy couple had headlined their own series on the BBC much earlier), and his list also included Bobby Breen, Deanna Durbin, Bert Parks, Dinah Shore, Shirley Dinsdale, Olive Major and Eddie Fisher. A young comic named Harry Einstein was definitely a legitimate Cantor find; he joined the program in 1934, playing a character named (Nick) Parkyakarkas, who spoke in a comical Greek accent. Einstein would later headline his own sitcom during the 1940s with Meet Me at Parky’s, in which his famous character became a restaurateur. (Einstein also sired two sons that followed in their father’s show business footsteps: Bob was a fixture on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour during the 1960s as Officer Judy, and achieved even greater fame in the 80s-90s as comedic stuntman Super Dave Osborne. Son Albert—who was named for the man you’re now thinking of—changed his last name to Brooks, and wrote and directed many classic comedy films like Lost in America and Defending Your Life.)

Eddie introduced another popular second banana in 1935 in the personage of a Slavic-accented crazy dubbed “the Mad Russian,” played by Bert Gordon (“How do you dooooo?”) The unforgettable character played Jerry Colonna to Cantor’s Bob Hope, “a lunatic so addled that his presence immediately converted the boss into a straight man,” as John Dunning observes in On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio. Cantor’s longtime announcer, Harry Von Zell, would assume a similar second banana/foil role in the 1940s—which no doubt helped him immeasurably during his stint with Burns & Allen on their 50s television show.

Cantor’s reign on radio lasted from 1931-49, but he was never really able to duplicate the phenomenal popularity of The Chase and Sanborn Hour after leaving the program in November 1934 (Sam Goldwyn lured him to Hollywood to make movies). The two programs that I listened to last night were culled from his series for Bristol Myers (Ipana toothpaste and Sal Hepatica), It’s Time to Smile, and the first (January 15, 1941) features Phil Harris as Eddie’s guest. Eddie has convinced the wealthy Mrs. Flounder to invest in a feature film that he’s making, and the dowager has chosen Harris to be the movie’s leading man:

(SFX: door opens)

PHIL: Hiya, small-time!

EDDIE: Phil Harris! In person!

(Audience applause)

PHIL: Well, well! What have we here? Hiya, baby!

(Audience responds to Phil and Dinah Shore going into a “clinch,” if you know what I mean…)

EDDIE: Dinah! Dinah! Will you ask Phil Harris to stop kissing you?!!

DINAH (in a daze): You tell him yourself…I don’t talk to strangers…

(snip)

PHIL: Listen, Eddie…what’s this turkey I’m supposed to be the leading man in and who is the lucky leading lady?

EDDIE: Look…I’m willing to get you any leading lady, Phil…but if you’ll take my advice…

PHIL: Listen, Cantor—I’m a dinosaur of women…now, look…what do you know about ‘em?

EDDIE: What do I know about women? Phil…I’ve been around more girls than you without even leaving my house…

Gerald Nachman, in his book Raised on Radio, comments that Cantor’s “best gag” may have been a series of long-running jokes centering on his five daughters (Marjorie, Natalie, Edna, Marilyn, and Janet) and his desperate attempts to marry any of them off. (It has been speculated that this sure-fire laugh getter originated during his 1938-39 season for Camel, as he doggedly tried to get announcer Bert Parks betrothed.) Indeed, it seems to me that Eddie was funnier on other people’s programs (I’m a big fan of this Burns & Allen appearance) than his own; the comedy material on this broadcast isn’t particularly strong, although it remains a pleasant half-hour diversion. A noteworthy presence is Sid Fields—best known as Bud & Lou’s landlord on TV’s The Abbott & Costello Show—who played a recurring character on the Cantor program, Mr. Guffey.

The second show, originally heard over NBC on February 5, 1941, begins with Eddie marking the occasion of his recent 49th birthday (Cantor’s a little too vain to reveal his age, so I went ahead and “did the math” for you), and there’s an amusing exchange involving radio’s beloved bad boy, Walter Tetley, who plays a messenger:

WALTER: Telegram! Telegram for Eddie Cantor!

EDDIE: Oh! Oh, thanks…thanks…oh, look—Harry!

HARRY: What?

EDDIE: It’s from my friend Bugs Bare…

HARRY: Oh…

EDDIE: It says, “Congratulations, Eddie…I’ve been seeing and hearing you for twenty-five years…either you’re getting better or I’m getting used to you…”

WALTER: Here’s another telegram…

EDDIE: Another tele…well, why didn’t you give it to me before?

WALTER: I was waitin’ for the laugh…

HARRY (chuckling): Optimistic little rascal, isn’t he?

EDDIE: Yeah…

HARRY: Well, read the other wire, Eddie…what’s it say?

EDDIE: Oh yeah…it says: “Eddie Cantor, if you ever need help…wire, write or phone…no cosigners, no red tape…the Confidential Loan…” Any other wires, boy?

WALTER: Nope.

EDDIE: No? Well, then go ahead—what are you doing? Still waiting for the laugh?

WALTER: No, for the tip…but I got just as much chance of gettin’ one as the other…

Jinx Falkenburg is Cantor’s guest on this show—Eddie and Harry have invested in an apartment building and they seek to get the famous model to pose for some publicity shots to help out. In addition to her modeling career, Jinx enjoyed brief success in films (Nine Girls, Cover Girl) and alongside husband Tex McCrary, headlined one of radio’s popular “breakfast” shows beginning in 1946 over New York’s WEAF:

EDDIE: Jinx Falkenburg, your presence here tonight is the nicest birthday present I could possibly get…

JINX: Thank you…just which birthday are you celebrating?

EDDIE: Oh—you’ve been talking to Von Zell, huh?

JINX: Anyway, I hope when I’m your age, Eddie, I’ll be just as well-preserved…

EDDIE: Preserved? What do you mean, preserved? What am I, a pickle or something? Well, answer me, tell me…am I a pickle?

JINX: Well, all I say is…don’t stand too close to a corned beef sandwich…

EDDIE: Is that so? Well, tell me—how do you keep in such fine shape, my lady?

JINX: Every morning, I go horseback riding, play a couple sets of tennis, a round of golf, a swim in the pool, a couple chuckers of polo, and then…

EDDIE: Yes?

JINX: …then I’m ready for my day’s activities…

EDDIE: Hmm…

JINX: How do you manage to keep in trim?

EDDIE: Oh, practically the same routine as yours, Jinx…up in the morning, a fast game of tic-tac-toe…game of jacks, a chucker at checkers…a half-hour with my yo-yo…and then…

JINX: Yes?

EDDIE: That’s all—I’m knocked out…

This show was a little better, particularly because Dinah warbles a nice version of “Let’s Make it Real,” and Gordon’s “Mad Russian” returns after a long absence.

After his three-year stint for Pabst Blue Ribbon beer (1946-49), Eddie Cantor followed Groucho Marx’s lead and became a quizmaster on the popular Take It or Leave It on NBC—but he stayed only a season, since the fall of 1950 found him plowing new fields in television as one of the headliners of The Colgate Comedy Hour (he unfortunately suffered a heart attack in September 1952, which forced him off the air until 1953). His last years in radio were pretty much spent as a disk jockey, spinning stacks of wax and reminiscing about his old show business days, but a second attack soon dictated his retirement from show business. Cantor (who passed away October 10, 1964) is gone but most assuredly not forgotten—not only by modern day old-time radio fans, but by these individuals as well, one of which remarked in an Los Angeles Times article in the summer of 2003: “"It's important to support and keep these societies alive because the Cantors, Jolsons, Laurel and Hardys, Jack Bennys were a big part of the cultural heritage of this country, and we should honor them.” I say amen to that as well.
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