Bing Crosby began his lengthy radio career in September 1931, but it wasn’t until he assumed the stewardship of The Kraft Music Hall in 1936 that he really became a force to be reckoned with over the airwaves. The program, which debuted over NBC Radio on June 26, 1933 (ostensibly to plug Kraft’s new salad dressing, Miracle Whip), began its lengthy run with Paul Whiteman (“The King of Jazz”) as host—accompanied by singing pianist Ramona, soprano Helen Jepson, tenor Jack Fulton, Roy Bargy and his orchestra, and folksy musicologist Deems Taylor (who’s probably best-remembered as the narrator of the 1940 Walt Disney feature Fantasia).

Bing’s first KMH show was January 2, 1936, and from his debut, he set out to put his personal stamp on a program that he inherited from Whiteman and Al Jolson (Jolie had headlined the show briefly in 1934), with an hour of jokes, music and casual conversation. His announcer, Ken Carpenter, was present almost from the very start to handle the Kraft commercial duties and would remain with Der Bingle almost to the end of his radio career. Orchestra leader John Scott Trotter replaced Jimmy Dorsey as the show’s bandleader on July 8, 1937; he, too, would sail on the S.S. Crosby for many years also, as well as Crosby’s future radio director Murdo McKenzie, who cut his teeth as a Music Hall engineer.

Crosby would sit in the host’s chair for nearly a decade, but the Kraft Music Hall spotlighted an equally talented roster of performers, many of which went on to appear in their own individual programs. Chiefly among these performers was Bob Burns—“the Arkansas Traveler”—who served as a bucolic sidekick to Bing, regaling him and the audience with tall tales of life back home. Listeners soon became acquainted with an unusual musical instrument invented by Burns that consisted of two pieces of two-inch pipe (which slid together like a trombone) and a funnel, which head writer Carroll Carroll likened to “one cut above a jug.” Burns dubbed this bizarre bass instrument a “bazooka,” a name which was appropriated by the military for their anti-tank rocket gun, and is still in wide use today. After serving a five-year stretch, Bob landed his own comedy-variety program with The Bob Burns Show, heard over CBS and NBC from 1941-47.

Danish comedian-pianist Victor Borge also received his first taste of fame on the Kraft Music Hall, introducing his famous verbal “punctuation” routine in December 1941. He, too, would soon find himself headlining his own program beginning in 1943. Two other stars emerged from John Scott Trotter’s orchestra in the form of Spike Jones (a drummer) and Jerry Colonna (a trombonist). Colonna would find his niche as Bob Hope’s number one stooge, and Jones would later enjoy a successful music career with hits like Der Fueher’s Face and Hawaiian War Chant, and a two-year run over CBS Radio with the “musical depreciation” program Spotlight Revue beginning in 1947. Other big names who appeared as KMH regulars include Mary Martin, Connee Boswell, Jerry Lester, George Murphy, Peggy Lee and the Merry Macs (Judd, Ted & Joe McMichael and Mary Lou Cook).

Carroll Carroll served as the head writer for the Kraft Music Hall for many years, and it was he more than anyone else who developed the relaxed, jovial persona of Bing Crosby so well remembered today. Both Bing and Carroll shared a love affair with big words and alliteration (“There’s a lot of limber lumber on that calfskin”), and the casual, laid-back banter with the show’s guests convinced many a listener that the show was completely ad-libbed. Carroll wrote a memoir of his years in the radio writing biz entitled None of Your Business, and he succinctly summed up the attitude of KMH by commenting that the program served to “treat opera as if it were baseball and baseball as if it were opera.”

Since things got sort of hectic at work last night (I swear, you’d think we running some sort of hotel or something) I only got an opportunity to preview one KMH program—but it was a doozy, a broadcast from December 16, 1943 featuring Trudy Erwin, Leo “Ukie” Sherin (one of the program’s writers who frequently appeared on-mike as well), the Charioteers (singing Shoo, Shoo Baby) and a surprise appearance from Joan Davis. This info is a little sketchy, but apparently Davis was following in the footsteps of Gracie Allen by dropping in on various NBC programs in search of a mysterious “package”—a publicity stunt to promote her program The Sealtest Village Store (I have a Duffy’s Tavern broadcast from December 14, 1943 that features her as well):

KEN: What about Bing’s present?

BING: Oh, don’t worry about little ol’ me…I…

UKIE: Well, don’t worry…I’ve got a package for you…

JOAN (bursting in): Package? Did I hear package? Where’s my package? Huh?

UKIE: Don’t tell me you’re Joan Davis…

JOAN: Don’t tell me you’re Bing Crosby!

UKIE: No, no, no…I’m Ukie…

JOAN: Oh…gosh, you’re handsome…

UKIE: Well, you’re very pretty, too…

BING: Whatever happened to twenty-twenty vision?

JOAN: Oh, you’re Bing Crosby! Gee, I looked at Ukie here and I… (screams) Oh, he’s awful—ain’t he!!!

UKIE: Well, when you came in you said I was handsome!

JOAN: Yeah, I was looking at the back of your head…

UKIE: Well, don’t worry…you’ll never be my girl…

JOAN: That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me…

Bing’s announced guest is Phil Silvers, and it’s interesting to hear The Man Who Would Be Bilko on radio, to say the least. With Silvers, it’s not so much what he says but the way he says it:

BING: Having just completed his joyous jaunt in the forthcoming 20th Century-Fox picture Four Jills and a Jeep, our friend Phil—“glad to see you”—Silvers is once again free to visit the old Kraft Music Hall and give us the benefit of his wisdom…

PHIL: Happy to do it for you, Bing! Why, I can make you all the things you want to be…I can bring you to the point where people will welcome you at parties…will ask you to sing…

BING: Really, Phil? Oh, Phil…if you only could!

PHIL: If I only could, he says…foolish boy…just put yourself in my hands and let me make you over with the Silvers System of Psychological Adjustment…and don’t forget…”Silvers” spelled backward is “Srevlis…”

BING: What’s “Srevlis”?

PHIL: “Silvers” spelled backwards…makes it harder to remember…

BING: Glad to see you…

PHIL: Glad to see you…

KEN: Say, I studied a little psychology, Phil…

PHIL: That’s nice…now to begin with, Bing…

KEN: …do you believe Freud is incorrect in not mentioning the belief that a split libido attuned to an inferiority complex reflects in a feeling of superiority, mingled with paranoia and megalomania?

PHIL: I can answer that in a few words…stock up on jelly beans…

BING: Are you popular?

PHIL: Am I popular? Bing…you’re not just talking to some Johnny-come-lately…this is Silvers…look at this invitation…”Mr. and Mrs. J.L. Yarnell request your presence at home on Christmas Eve…”

BING: You’re going?

PHIL: Too busy…can’t make it! Well, here’s another invitation…

BING: Let me see this one…

PHIL: “…Mr. and Mrs. Gerald L. Noonan request your presence for cocktails…”

BING: Oh, you’ll be there…?

PHIL: Can’t make it…too busy! Well, here’s one I haven’t even opened yet…let’s see…”Mr. Phil Silvers…greetings…” I’ll make that one…

Since this particular broadcast comes nigh close to Christmas, Bing naturally takes the opportunity to sing his signature tune (you know the one—the Irving Berlin song), but he also gives out with Pistol Packin’ Mama (a #2 hit in 1943 for Bing and the Andrews Sisters) and, on a duet with Trudy Erwin, Oh, What a Beautiful Morning. I enjoyed this show—because I worship at the altar of Silvers—but I have to admit, I’ve always been more partial to Philco Radio Time.

Philco Radio Time resulted from storm clouds that appeared on the horizon for the Kraft Music Hall in 1945—star Crosby wrestled with both his network (NBC) and Kraft over the issue of pre-recording his program in advance. Neither of the parties involved refused to budge, and so Crosby walked off the show at the beginning of the 1945-46 season. It was only after settling with Kraft that he returned for the final thirteen weeks, and after that, he jumped ship to ABC for Philco, beginning a three-year stint for them before defecting to CBS in 1949 as a result of William S. Paley’s notorious talent raids. The Kraft Music Hall chugged on until September 22, 1949, finally closing its doors for good.

Bing Crosby was a one-of-a-kind entertainer, a man who at one time was the leading film star, radio star, and recording star—a feat that has not been duplicated since. There are nearly 150 broadcasts of The Kraft Music Hall’s Crosby years extant today, and they remain as enjoyable to modern-day ears as they were when originally broadcast during the Golden Age of Radio.
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