Fame in the Family

A slightly different version of this story was first posted on August 30, 2013…

It takes something close to a village to make a movie, but it’s only the bigger names that generally get documented. We’re not inclined to ask, “How did Joan Crawford‘s life turn out?” (or Jack Webb‘s or Jimmy Stewart‘s) because, well, we already know.

But what about James Gleason (a character actor of the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s) or Pamela Baird (she played Wally’s gal Mary Ellen Rogers on Leave It To Beaver) or Virginia Gregg (she appeared on seemingly every other episode of Dragnet in the ’60s, playing a different character each time)? These workaday actors come and go, and too often we know little to nothing about them.

That’s why we often find ourselves, when watching a movie from the 1930s or ’40s—or a television program from the 1950s or ’60s—turning to imdb.com to follow up on the lives and careers of those actors who made a living playing small parts.

We wondered, in a post we wrote some years back, whether the descendants of people who whose hands appear in old movies—and only their hands (someone got paid, after all, to provide the steady, well-groomed hands that are seen in so many old movies writing letters in close-up)—are as proud of their ancestors’ cinematic contributions as the sons and daughters (and grandsons and granddaughters) of the top stars must surely be.

Similarly, we wonder about those actors who made only the tiniest mark in Hollywood: Do their children (and their children’s children) point with pride to their father’s two lines in a Bowery Boys comedy or their grandmother’s fifteen-second appearance as a diner waitress in a low-budget noir thriller from the early ’50s?

We came across just such a performance last night while watching Take Care of My Little Girl (1951), an exposé of the excesses of the sorority system on college campuses.

We looked up a number of the cute starlets (there are dozens) who play sorority girls and rushees in the picture, but one in particular caught our attention.

Her name was Virginia Hunt, and she played Lyn Hippenstahl, a sorority hopeful who is heartbroken to learn that, after she has endured the humiliations of Rush Week, not a single sorority has extended to her an invitation to join their organization.

Here’s the brief scene in which Virginia appears. In it, dozens of freshman girls wait in line, each awaiting an envelope that contains cards from the sororities that have expressed a willingness to accept her as a member:

Our Ms. Hunt is given exactly four lines in the scene, and her character is crushed with disappointment. Did she wonder at the time why she was chosen for the character who is rejected? “Am I homely?” perhaps she wondered.

We often wonder this about actors who are cast as the plain girl or the dorky guy or someone whose girth is the object of ridicule. Does the thrill of being cast in a movie or television show—and the pay that accompanies it—outweigh the pain of being considered suitable to play such a role? Surely, inside every Plain Jane or Nerdy Norville, there lurks the soul of a leading lady or man, no?

But the most striking aspect of Ms. Hunt’s imdb.com profile is its sparseness. A date of death is offered (April 26, 2007), but no date of birth. And her filmography includes just a single entry: After portraying the under-appreciated Ms. Hippenstahl, it seems our Virginia never worked in the movies again.

Of course, that doesn’t mean she didn’t go on to lead a happy life. She might well have been very successful in another field of endeavor, or perhaps she married a great guy and raised a crop of kids. Or both! Who knows?

But in the movie biz, Virginia’s moment in the sun was less than sixty seconds long. Do those family members who came after her—her children, her nieces and nephews—even know that she appeared in a movie? Have they seen it?

These are the mysteries that intrigue us.

Have an OTR Christmas!

The hours till Christmas are dwindling down, and the way we figure it, odds are pretty good that you’re looking to kill a little time right about now.

You’re either stuck at the office on Christmas Eve, but with precious little to actually do. Or you’ve already headed home for the holidays but found the first wave of small talk has subsided and you’re left with not too much to say to your various and sundry relatives.

Or heaven forbid, you’re stuck in a flight delay at the airport, in which case you could surely use a pleasing distraction.

As we’ve stated in this space before, we have nothing whatsoever to do with OTRCat.com, purveyors of audio collections of old-time radio programs. We don’t benefit in any way from offering plugs for them.

But we enjoy listening to old radio programs and we like it that, when major holidays roll around, the good folks at OTRCat make it a practice to offer a round-up of timely broadcasts for the streaming (or, if you prefer, the downloading), absolutely free.

This week, as you might guess, they’ve got a line-up of a dozen shows with a Christmas theme, and the range of genres and decades is impressive. You can catch everything from comedies (Burns and Allen, Jack Benny) to mystery-horror (Lights Out, The Weird Circle), musical variety programs (Kraft Music Hall featuring Bing Crosby), and even cop shows (Dragnet).

Speaking of Dragnet, we’re sharing that one below, just to whet your appetite—but we strongly recommend you head over to OTRCat.com to see the entire line-up. And why not consider making a purchase of one of their entertaining collections of OTR programs while you’re at it? They couldn’t be more affordable, and they make great holiday gifts for those vintage-minded individuals on your gift list.

Dragnet: “Twenty-two Rifle for Christmas” (12/21/1950; 28:44)

Virginia Hunt, We Hardly Knew Ye

It takes something close to a village to make a movie, but it’s only the bigger names that generally get documented. We’re not inclined to ask, “How did Joan Crawford‘s life turn out?” (or Jack Webb‘s or Jimmy Stewart‘s) because, well, we already know.

But what about James Gleason (a character actor of the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s) or Pamela Baird (she played Wally’s gal Mary Ellen Rogers on Leave It To Beaver) or Virginia Gregg (she appeared on seemingly every other episode of Dragnet in the ’60s, playing a different character each time)? These workaday actors come and go, and too often we know little to nothing about them.

That’s why we often find ourselves, when watching a movie from the 1930s or ’40s—or a television program from the 1950s or ’60s—turning to imdb.com to follow up on the lives and careers of those actors who made a living playing small parts.

We wondered, in a post we wrote some months back, whether the descendants of people who whose hands appear in old movies—and only their hands (someone got paid, after all, to provide the steady, well-groomed hands that are seen in so many old movies writing letters in close-up)—are as proud of their ancestors’ cinematic contributions as the sons and daughters (and grandsons and granddaughters) of the top stars must surely be.

Similarly, we wonder about those actors who made only the tiniest mark in Hollywood: Do their children (and their children’s children) point with pride to their father’s two lines in a Bowery Boys comedy or their grandmother’s fifteen-second appearance as a diner waitress in a low-budget noir thriller from the early ’50s?

We came across just such a performance last night while watching Take Care of My Little Girl (1951), an exposé of the excesses of the sorority system on college campuses.

We looked up a number of the cute starlets (there are dozens) who play sorority girls and rushees in the picture, but one in particular caught our attention.

Her name was Virginia Hunt, and she played Lyn Hippenstahl, a sorority hopeful who is heartbroken to learn that, after she has endured the humiliations of Rush Week, not a single sorority has extended to her an invitation to join their organization.

Here’s the brief scene in which Virginia appears. In it, dozens of freshman girls wait in line, each awaiting an envelope that contains cards from the sororities that have expressed a willingness to accept her as a member:

Our Ms. Hunt is given exactly four lines in the scene, and her character is crushed with disappointment. Did she wonder at the time why she was chosen for the character who is rejected? “Am I homely?” perhaps she wondered.

We often wonder this about actors who are cast as the plain girl or the dorky guy or someone whose girth is the object of ridicule. Does the thrill of being cast in a movie or television show—and the pay that accompanies it—outweigh the pain of being considered suitable to play such a role? Surely, inside every Plain Jane or Nerdy Norville, there lurks the soul of a leading lady or man, no?

But the most striking aspect of Ms. Hunt’s imdb.com profile is it’s sparseness. A date of death is offered (April 26, 2007), but no date of birth. And her filmography includes just a single entry: After portraying the under-appreciated Ms. Hippenstahl, it seems our Virginia never worked in the movies again.

Of course, that doesn’t mean she didn’t go on to lead a happy life. She might well have been very successful in another field of endeavor, or perhaps she married a great guy and raised a crop of kids. Or both! Who knows?

But in the movie biz, Virginia’s moment in the sun was less than sixty seconds long. Do those family members who came after her—her children, her nieces and nephews—even know that she appeared in a movie? Have they seen it?

These are the mysteries that intrigue us.

Another OTR Christmas

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.)