Year: 2011

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … Happy New Year!

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Well, it’s New Year’s Eve Eve. Just two more days, and we’ll all be cursing ourselves for writing 2011 on our checks.

With just a few hours remaining till the ball drops in Times Square, toasts are raised, and midnight smooches are shared, we thought we’d make a present to the Cladrite community of All Star New Years Dancing Party, an hour-long radio program that originally aired on the Armed Forces Radio Service on December 31st, 1945.

The program, which is hosted by Harry James, features performances from across the country and around the world by such legendary big bands as the Count Basie Orchestra in New York City, Freddy Martin‘s outfit performing from Los Angeles’ Cocoanut Grove night club, Woody Herman and His Orchestra in New Jersey, Louis Armstrong and His All-Stars from Club Zanzibar in Manhattan, and many more.

It’s a fine way to welcome in a brand new year.

All-Star New Year’s Eve Dancing Party—12/31/1945 (1 hr., 4 sec.)

Times Square Tintypes: Samuel Shipman

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In this chapter from his 1932 book, Times Square Tintypes, Broadway columnist Sidney Skolsky profiles Samuel Shipman, a playwright of some prominence in the first half of the twentieth century.
 
 
NO MAN IS A HERO TO HIS VALET
 
SAMUEL SHIPMAN. When he was graduated from Columbia this line appeared under his picture in the college book: “God Makes Some Strange Things.”
His first play, which he wrote at the age of twelve, was something called Justice. It was performed at the Jewish Educational Alliance.
He is marvelously unkempt. Even after he has had a shave and a haircut he needs a shave and a haircut.
As a kid he wore phony jewelry to appear rich.
Writes all his plays in Atlantic City. He engages a suite in one of the exclusive hotels. He always takes two stenographers an a collaborator with him. He dictates everything he writes. Paces the floor and is often in another room shouting the lines. The stenographers work in relays, one resting while the other is taking the dictation.
He never sleeps more than four hours a day. And always one of these hours is between five and six in the morning.
He made a million dollars in royalties from Friendly Enemies and East Is West. So did Wall Street.
Likes to drink and play with tea. Is always pouring the tea from the glass to the saucer and then back into the glass.
Has only one superstition. That is he must start an finish his plays on a Tuesday. It doesn’t matter if the Tuesdays are months apart.
He once taught English in an East Side school.
Everything he does he describes as “terrific.”
Has only one superstition: that is, theatrical notables. Eugene O’Neill, for example, he believes is only an intellectualized Theodore Kremer. Claims the only thing he likes about George Jean Nathan is H. L. Mencken. A. H. Woods is his favorite producer. Because whenever he hands that impresario a flop Woods never cries, but merely says: “It’s all right, sweetheart; try again.”
He rarely eats meat. His favorite meal is one composed solely of caviar.
Likes to go prowling about the city at night and often sets out at midnight, alone.
The sight of fish fascinates him. He is a frequent visitor at the Aquarium.
He never hangs up anything. His clothes are sprawled about the house. On entering he tosses his hat anywhere. His coat is dropped on the living room floor; the vest on the bedroom floor. His trousers he carefully places at the foot of his bed. He dresses faster than a fireman.
To date he has had twelve collaborators. His favorite is John B. Hymer because Hymer understands him.
He wants to know everything before anyone else.
Never reads a book during the winter. Every summer he goes for a vacation in the Catskill Mountains, taking two valises full of books with him.
Doesn’t like young girls. Never goes out with a lady under thirty-five.
Never falls in love with an actress. His sweetheart is a nonprofessional. Her parents, however, dislike everything connected with the theater and won’t allow him in the house.
His ambition in life is to write the libretto of an opera and to have it presented at the Metropolitan Opera House.
He suffers from indigestion. His secretary carries his pills and reminds him when he has indigestion.
At Columbia he studied playwriting under Brander Matthews, who gave him a C minus. He asked that his mark be raised and Matthews asked why. Shipman then pulled out a contract for a play he had just sold. Matthews merely replied: “It’s the old story. Theory is theory and practice is practice.”
He covered the Ruth Snyder case for a tabloid newspaper.
Never cleans his shoes on the outside, but only inside. This, he claims, is healthy for the feet.
He can recite most of Ibsen’s plays from memory. While writing a play his teeth become loose; in fact, so loose that he can pluck them. To date he has plucked six. The minute the play is finished his teeth tighten. He is continually visiting dentists because of this condition.
The greatest disappointment one can get in life, he believes, is meeting somebody one had heard a lot about.
One evening at the Lambs Club Eugene O’Neill was playing poker with a group of playwrights. After losing all his money O’Neill offered to play on his ability as a dramatist. After another hour of heavy losing O’Neill got up and started for home. As he was leaving the doorman said: “Good night, Mr. Shipman.”
The only time he ever combs his hair is before going to bed.

Another OTR Christmas

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We figure most folks will find themselves in one of two camps over the next few days.

The first group will be those who got a bit of a jump on their seasonal activities. They’ve purchased and wrapped all their gifts, mailed their cards, gotten the grocery shopping completed for any holiday meals they’re to prepare, so now they spend the next few days relaxing and savoring the festive mood that surrounds us.

The second group, bless their hearts, have accomplished few to none of the above-cited tasks, and will be frantic and out of breath for the next 72 hours or so as they fight the crowds to squeeze in some last-minute shopping; sign, stamp, and lick, and mail their cards, and drive all over town from grocery store to understocked grocery store looking for all the ingredients required for the holiday meal they’re expected to whip up.

To the second group, we say, “Good luck and Godspeed—we don’t envy you.” Because, the rigors of a little holiday travel aside, we’ve completed our own seasonal tasks and intend to relax and enjoy ourselves through the weekend.

One way we in the first camp might pass the time is with some Christmas-themed old-time radio programs from the good folks at OTRcat.com. They traffic in reasonably priced collections of classic radio shows from the Cladrite Era, but for the next few days, you can listen to a full dozen holiday programs for free.

A number of genres are featured: mystery-horror, variety shows, dramas, cop shows, private eye programs, and comedies, among others.

We’re sharing below an episode of the “Lights Out” program entitled “Uninhabited” that originally aired on December 22, 1937, in which, as the folks at OTRcat describe it, “a French, Australian, and African-American soldier find themselves traveling on a train on Christmas Eve 1918.” But if the likes of “The Jack Benny Show,” “The Great Gildersleeve,” or “Dragnet” are more to your liking, you’ll find those streaming at OTRcat.com.

Lights Out: “Uninhabited” (30:04)

We think you’ll find the offerings at OTRcat well worth your consideration, and at these prices—free!—they certainly can’t be beat. So put your feet up and relax—you’ve earned it!—as you enjoy some Christmas entertainment from the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s—when you’re not listening to Cladrite Radio, that is.

(P.S. We have absolutely no connection to OTRcat.com. We just like old-time radio, and we appreciate any outfit that’s willing to share samples of their wares gratis.)

Doing a little retro(active) browsing

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Anyone who spends time browsing antique fairs, flea markets, and eBay knows that vintage retail catalogues are in demand and command a pretty penny, but no catalogues are more coveted than vintage Christmas catalogues.

As we’ve said here before, there’s something about Christmas that fosters a wistful nostalgia more potent than any other holiday, and it’s the pull of Christmases past, we’re convinced, that keeps these old mail-order catalogues in such demand.

If you find you can’t swing the price of one of these treasured commercial publications, don’t despair. We’ve found a site that will fill in ably while you’re saving your pennies.

Wishbookweb.com boasts scans of complete Christmas catalogues dating all the way back to 1933 (and up to 1988). The majority of the catalogues featured are from Sears, but there are other delights to be enjoyed, too, including a 1941 Lord and Taylor catalogue and a Spiegel catalogue from 1933.

And this site doesn’t just offer selected highlights from these forty-plus catalogues; they’ve scanned and posted each in its entirety.

So if you’ve ever wondered what kind of holiday toys might have enticed your parents, your grandparents or, heck, even your great-grandparents when they were whippersnappers, you need wonder no more.

And of course, Christmas catalogues don’t limit themselves to toys—these publications are terrific resources for researching and tracking the changes and advances in clothing, furniture, electronics, housewares, and so much more.

And if you find yourself wondering, while perusing these catalogues, “What would that gorgeous console radio that cost $52 in 1937 run me today?”, just call up the Inflation Calculator, which compares and contrasts prices from as far back as 1800 all the way up to 2010. (To answer our own question: $52 in 1937 was the equivalent of $781 in 2010.)

A homemade holiday

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We wrote last week of author Susan Waggoner’s collection of four books (so far) that look back at the way Christmas was celebrated during what we call the Cladrite Era. This week, we’re honored to share with you this guest blog from Ms. Waggoner, whose new book, Have Yourself a Very Vintage Christmas, focuses on holiday crafts, decorating tips, and recipes from the 1920s through the ’60s:

 

People sometimes ask me if, after writing four books on the subject, I am “Christmased out.” It’s hard not to laugh. Heavens, no!

Researching and writing these books has made me love Christmas even more, for now I have not only my own seasonal memories, but the memories of others to reflect on.

Like my friend Betty’s father, owner of a radio and record store in a small Cape Cod town, a real-life Santa Claus who spent all night every Christmas Eve delivering orders, so families could enjoy their new radios and television sets Christmas Day.

Or the young couple who, during the Depression, sacrificed their own presents to make Christmas dinner for 29 poor children, each of whom went home with a bag of candy and a toy.

I was very lucky, growing up, never to know deprivation. If my parents’ generation was the Greatest, mine was certainly the Luckiest. We were born into a world that had waited through a Depression and a World War for our arrival, to parents who’d grown up without gifts and were determined to make a different kind of world for us.

Children that we were, we took peace and abundance for granted, focusing our attention on Tiny Tears dolls, Easy Bake Ovens, Hot Wheels and Creepy Crawly Thingmakers.

I had a wish list as long as any child’s, and it seems to me I usually got whatever it was I most wanted. But I got something more important than toys from those early Christmases. From my parents and grandparents I inherited a long tradition of handmade holidays—of making decorations rather than buying them, of not just hearing the Christmas story at church but acting it out at home, in shepherd costumes of bedsheets and blankets.

My mother never purchased formal wrapping paper or place cards. She bought tissue paper and glitter and saved old Christmas cards, from which we were expected to create our own tags and wrappings, and the idea of going to a movie on Christmas afternoon instead of playing charades would have seemed a kind of sacrilege.

In remembering the things we did and made together, I remember who my parents and grandparents were. I remember the frugality that carried them through lean times and the creativity they cultivated even when times were better.

Their message still rings loud and clear: don’t always settle for store-bought, even when you can afford it. Add something of yourself. Try your hand. Find a way to make things special. Throw yourself into the fray and see what you end up with.

Whether in Christmas or in life, it’s a good lesson to remember.

—Susan Waggoner