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P-5'* Copyright 1942 - Don McNeill Chicago ? “America, Arise — the Breakfast Club is on the Air!” h i Page 2 &F* - 9 “KEEP ’EM SMILING” IT IS MY FIRM BELIEF THAT: — America’s homes are America’s future. — Our American people have the wholesome courage, the fearless spirit to overcome any brutal force that would menace the security, the fami¬ lies, the homes of which we’re so justly proud. - — The American mixture of faith in the Almighty, ingenuity, and love of freedom for all, spell Victory ! — All our combined efforts are needed to insure this Victory, and for it we must be prepared to sacrifice everything. — A spicy dash of humor and a soothing draught of inspiration are as essentially a part of our daily diets as food itself. - — America needs to wake up with a smile — “because a day begun happy makes life worthwhile.” — It is the function of the Breakfast Club as an American institution to boost our morale in the morning when it tends to ebb lowest. — Therefore, in peace or war, we of the Breakfast Club must “KEEP ’EM SMILING!” fe. ik** - Page 4 •wVSfeVw:- YOUR TOASTMASTER On the 23rd of Dec., 1907 there arrived at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Harry McNeill in Galena, Illinois, a 10 lb. son whom they named Donald Thomas- later shortened to Don sometimes spelled D-a-w-n because he has to get up so early in the morning. Don’s mother reports that soon after being born, he had a severe fit of choking, which is his first known gag. Now he describes himself as the tall, dark and homey type. He says “I’m just two inches shorter than a bean pole (6 ft. 2 y2 in. to be exact), my hair is brown since I last washed it, my eyes are blue, I weigh 195 soaking wet, and my favorite hobby, besides fishing and hunting, is chopping down trees, cutting grass and digging in the dirt or golf to you.” Don’s family moved to Sheboygan, Wis., a city noted for “Cheese, chairs and children.” Don refuses to state in which category he places him¬ self. He distinguished Sheboygan by leaving there at the age of 17 for Marquette University from which he graduated in 1929. He had already been on the air over a Milwaukee station for a year after which he was fired. “No future for you in the radio business,” said the boss. He got a job as radio editor and announcer on another Milwaukee station, then to Louisville, Kentucky, thence to San Francisco, and on to Chicago and Breakfast Club in 1933. The McNeills in their living room include Mrs. Mac (Katherine Bennett of Milwau¬ kee until 1931) and Bobby, Tommy and Donnie, all of whom call Don “Daddy” — among other things. ■I Page 5 &?+«■ ,0 IT’S MEMORY TIME —around the breakfast table “If radio’s slim fingers Can pluck a melody From night and toss it over A continent or sea; If the petaled notes Of a violin Are blown across a mountain Or a city’s din; If songs like crimson roses Are culled from thin, blue air, Why should mortals wonder If God hears prayer?” - — Ethel Romig Fuller l. $SSL*' Page 6 «Sgvi 9 THE NATION'S STRENGTH “I know three things must always be To keep a nation strong and free. One is a hearthstone bright and dear, With busy, happy loved ones near. One is a ready heart and hand To love, and serve, and keep the land. One is a worn and beaten way To where the people go to pray. So long as these are kept alive, Nation and people will survive. God, keep them always, everywhere, The hearth, the flag, the place of prayer.” (Anonymous) LAUGH Build for yourself a strong box, Fashion each part with care; Fit it with hasp and padlock, Put all your troubles there. Hide therein all your failures, And each hitter cup you quaff, Lock all your heartaches within it. Then sit on the lid and laugh. Tell no one of its contents; Never its secrets share; Drop in your cares and worries, Keep them forever there. Hide them from sight so completely The world will never dream half; Fasten the top down securely, Then sit on the lid and laugh. (Anonymous) - ? UNTOUCHED YET Honey, jes’ listen, ; Don’t cry and fret; There’s a hull day tomorrow Ain’t been teched yet. Mought he a sunrise ’Twould make your heart shout, j Look like ’twas heaven Turned inside out. Mought turn a corner j Most any place, Bes’ friend a-smilin’ Right in your face. So heart of mine, listen, ; Why do you fret? God’s good tomorrow Is all untouched yet. ! (Author Unknown) O! GIVE ME PATIENCE O! Give me patience when little hands, Tug at me with ceaseless small demands. O! Give me gentle words and smiling eyes, And keep my lips from hasty sharp replies. Let me not in weariness, confusion or noise. Obscure my vision from life’s few fleeting joys. Then when in years to come, my house is still. No hitter memories, its rooms may fill. (Anonymous) Page 7 HIS FAULTS There never was a man who had more faults Than he. Her mother used to tell her so. But living with him for a little while, She turned upon his foibles the warm glow Of her affection. If you look for weeds, She thought, you’ll find them sure; but a man needs The comfort of an uncomplaining wife To cultivate the garden of his life. As the years passed, and understanding came, With time she learned to value and revere The man she married, and his many faults Seemed to her mind to make him doubly dear. And when at last the tie that bound them parted, And she was left to mourn him, brokenhearted, Never through her last years could she recall That he had ever had a fault at all! — Anne Campbell in “Detroit News” THREE GATES If you are tempted to reveal A tale to you someone has told About another, make it pass. Before you speak, three gates of gold. These narrow gates: First, “Is it true?” Then, “Is it needful?” In your mind Give truthful answer. And the next Is last and narrowest, “Is it kind?” And if to reach your lips at last It passes through these gateways three, Then you may tell the tale, nor fear What the result of speech may be. — From the Arabian Page 8 "TELL HER SO" Amid the cares of married strife, In spite of toil and business life, If you value your sweet wife Tell her so! When days arc dark and deeply blue She has her troubles, same as you. Show her that your love is true — Tell her so! There was a time you thought it bliss To get the favor of one kiss; A dozen now won’t come amiss — Tell her so! Don’t act, if she has passed her prime As tho’ to please her were a crime; If ever you loved her, now’s the time — Tell her so. She’ll return, for each caress. An hundredfold of tenderness! Hearts like hers were made to bless! Tell her so. You are hers and hers alone; Well you know she’s all your own; Don’t wait to carve it on a stone — Tell her so. Never let her heart grow cold — Richer beauties will unfold; She is worth her weight in gold! Tell her so. — Copyright Grossett and Dunlap • 4 ip Dear Don : I’ve never missed a program since 1933, when 1 was hurt. The Breakfast Club, you, Don, and “Memory Time” have been a religion to me. 1 really don’t know how 1 would have ever had the courage to get along without you . . . day in and day out. Don McNeill comes on — smiling — and the gags are terrific! 1 wouldn’t trade a moment of my past for a million bucks. Some day I’m going to surprise you no end! I’ll be back on my feet and thumbing my nose at ol’ man paralisiss. Doggone it, Don, do you know 1 can’t ever spell that word! — but who wants to! Don, I’m the happiest cuss living. I just love every minute of my life and I’m having a “whale of a good time," beating this paralized state of affairs. Yes sir, this Thanksgiving day I am going to drop down on my knees and thank God — for permitting me to live in His wonderful world. The Black despair of War and all it means, is man made. The World is o.k. — it’s the people in it! Cheerio for now, Jimmie 9 4 Page 9 JIMMIE DAROU AH, WASTE NO PITY Ah, waste no time in pity, nor regret, That I am blind and can no longer see The deepening blue of summer skies; nor fret, That flowers flaunt their hues no more for me. And shed no tears that I shall never know, Again the beauty of a greening field Or tree; or watch a campfire’s cameo Of night-things all in silhouette revealed. But pray, instead, that I will always keep The beauty of these things within my mind; And let no wint’ry blast of rancor creep Into my heart with blighting thoughts unkind. Oh, pray that I may keep them ever green . . . And learn to sing of beauty — though unseen! — Hazel Granger Madill, Hermosa, S. D. A NEW START I will start anew this morning with a higher, fairer creed; I will cease to stand complaining of my ruthless neighbor’s greed; I will cease to sit repining while my duty’s call is clear; I will waste no moment whining, and my heart shall know no fear. I will look sometimes about me for the things that merit praise; I will search for hidden beauties that elude the grumbler’s gaze. I will try to find contentment in the paths that I must tread; I will cease to have resentment when another moves ahead. Page 10 I will not he swayed by envy when my rival’s strength is shown; I will not deny his merit, but I’ll strive to prove my own; I will try to see the beauty spread before me, rain, or shine; I will cease to preach your duty, and be more concerned with mine. (Author Unknown) GOSSIPTOWN Have you ever heard of Gossiptown On the shore of Falsehood Bay, Where Old Dame Humor with rustling gown Is going the livelong day? It isn’t far to Gossiptown For people who want to go, The Idleness train will take you down In just an hour or so. The thoughtless road is crowded, you’ll find, For most folks start that way; But it’s all down hill and, if you don’t mind, You’ll land in Falsehood Bay. You glide through the valley of Wicked Talk, And into the tunnel of Hate; Then, crossing the Bitterness Bridge, You walk right into the city gate. The principal street is called “They Say,” And “I’ve Heard” is the public well, And the breezes that blow from Falsehood Bay Are laden with “Don’t You Tell!” In the midst of the town is Telltale Park— You’re never quite safe when there; For its owner is Madame Suspicious Bemark, Who lives in the street “Don’t Care.” (Anonymous) "IT'S BETTER THAN WORKING" WHY WORRY That’s my usual answer to the usual question, “How do you like running the Breakfast Club?” Not that there isn’t a great deal of elbow grease and mental anguish nec¬ essary to keep the show running smoothly, interestingly, and without getting in that well known rut; yet the actual performance on the air HAS to be fun — otherwise it wouldn’t be the Breakfast Club. We are not good enough actors to give the impression of a typical family enjoying themselves around the nation’s breakfast table. We have to BE that family. So we’ve gone along in our own slap- happy way enjoying ourselves without benefit of script hoping that our own obvious enjoyment of our job will be communicated to our Breakfast Club army at home, who need morale building, just like the members of their family who are in Uncle Sam’s armed forces. The Break¬ fast Club is a program of music and wit — half music and half wit. I have a wonderful cast to work with. I know I can always depend on them for inspiration on mornings when my mind has all the sparkle of a dull hoe. We’re mighty proud of the constant flow of fine letters from our Breakfast Clubbers who write over 40,000 unsolicited letters a year to us — friendly letters like you’d write to your own family. We’re proud of the kids who have grown up listening to us. We’re proud of the age of our gags — we feel if they weren’t good in the first place they wouldn’t have lasted this long. And we’re proud that everything we say is sincere and clean so that every family member can listen. Don (to son Donmj): l understand one of the kids in your class at school said he hears me every morning. What did you say to him? Donny: I said “Wanna make something out of it?” After all, why worry. Either you’re successful or you’re not successful. If you are successful, there’s nothing to worry about. And if you’re not successful, there are only two things to worry about. Either your health is good, or you’re sick. If your health is good, there’s nothing to worry about. And if you’re sick, there are only two things to worry about. Either you’re going to get well, or you’re not. If you are going to get well, there’s nothing to worry about, and if you’re not, there are only two things to worry about. Either you’re going to heaven, or you’re going to the other place. If you’re going to heaven, you have nothing to worry about, and if you’re going to the other place, you’ll be so busy shaking hands with old friends, you won’t have time to worry — - so why worry. A SMILE A SMILE costs nothing, but gives much. It enriches those who receive, without making poorer those who give. It takes but a moment, but the memory of it some¬ times lasts forever. None is so rich or mighty that he can get along without it, and none is so poor but that he can be made rich by it. A smile creates happiness in the home, fosters good will in business, and is the counter¬ sign of friendship. It brings rest to the weary, cheer to the discouraged, sunshine to the sad, and it is nature’s best antidote for trouble. Yet it cannot be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen, for it is something that is of no value to anyone until it is given away. Some people are too tired to give you a smile. Give them one of yours, as none needs a smile so much as he who has no more to give. (Anonymous) - 1 Page 11 mo* t. Page 12 The Louisiana Lark Ernest Mahlon .Tones was born in Shreveport, La., June 29, 1908. The family lived about 10 miles out of town, and when, at the age of 8 Jack still couldn’t swim to school, they moved to Gold¬ en, Okla., where the Lark learned to chew gum, wear shoes, and finally earned a Bachelor of mu¬ sic degree at Henderson State College, Arkansas. Baker really isn’t as fat as most people believe, except in sections. He is 5 feet 7 inches tall, dark complexion, black hair, brown eyes, (especially the left one) and after seeing him for the first time most women say “Ain’t he cute.” He has a fine sense of humor, a wonderful disposition, and is the only tenor in existence who smokes cigars, chews gum and sings early in the morning simultaneously. Before he gave himself up and became a con¬ fessed tenor in Memphis, later Detroit, and finally Chicago, he was fired from the following jobs: Cotton picker, preacher, paper boy, saw-mill hand, truck driver, construction worker, pipe-line work¬ er, teacher, dry goods salesman, U.S. gov’t clerk, baseball player, basketball coach, cowpuncher, Fuller Brush man. Wears a size 8 shoe, likes loud ties (which he can’t tie), eats only one meal a day (but WHAT a meal), has a size 38 waist, a size 32 chest, long eyelashes, and his own teeth, which are nearly paid for. I< Fancy With Nancy Born July 15, 1913, in Wheeling, W. Va., Nancy Martin’s family (her father is a doctor) moved to New Martinsville, a large town, if you include its suburb — Pittsburgh, where “li’l ole Naneybelle” first became interested in boys and pianos in that order. After the customary number of years, and more than the usual number of dates, Nancy graduated from high school, and then Western College, Oxford, Ohio, where she studied voice, hoping someday to become a voice-president, no doubt. In 1934 she got on the radio in Pittsburgh, and although the locale is now Chicago, she hasn’t been able to shake the wireless yet — as if any of her thousands of air-admirers would ever want her to. Nancy’s specialty is her own interpretation of popular songs with interpolated recitations which she writes herself. Perhaps the most requested song she sings is her famous Christmas version of “Santa, Bring My Mommy Back to Me.” When she discusses the latest in fashion hints, the cast says “Let’s get fancy with Nancy.” She is a very attractive brunette with brown eyes and curly hair. She has a smile that’s as fresh as a Spring morning. She weighs 115 lbs. in her nylon feet, likes red dresses, men, new shoes, men, composing songs, men, Red Cross work, men, good books, and men. Page 13 ■^Wl- wf^isvwi- “Dear Earl” Born Marion Bateson at Columbus, Ohio, Sept. 9, 1914. “What-a-Mann” stands 5 ft. 4 in. tall, weighs in at 120 lbs., has olive complexion, brown hair, gray eyes, and abounding enthusiasm. She’s very sweet and rations her gas, hut she refuses to change her Earl. He’s the hoy friend. After graduating from a Columbus high school, Marion sang “for free” with a girl’s trio on a local station. Emerson Gill hired her to sing with his orchestra, and then Boh Crosby hired her away to do likewise. Before all these breaks, Marion had one that wasn’t at all lucky. An auto accident left her with a fractured pelvis, broken collar bone, and skull puncture, nearly ending her song career. But she didn’t let it, and after leaving Crosby for Break¬ fast Club she’s learned to cook and tell riddles. No samples of her cooking being available — here is a typical riddle as she tells it. “What did the little chicken say when it saw that the mother hen was sitting on an orange instead of an egg? Oh look at the fruit mamma’s got. I mean, oh look at the orange mammalade.” Page 14 I LOVE YOU iwvsfev^i I NEVER THOUGHT TO OFFER THANKS I love you not only for what you are but for what I am when I’m with you; I love you not only for what you have made of yourself but what you are making of me; 1 love you for putting your hand into my heaped up heart and passing over all the foolish weak things you can’t help dimly seeing there, and drawing out in the lighl all the beautiful belongings that no one else had looked quite far enough to find; I love you because you are helping me to make of the lumber of my life not a tavern hut a temple, out of the work of my every day life not a reproach but a song; I love you because you have done more than any creed could have done to make me good and more than any fate could have done to make me happy; You have done it without a touch, without a word, without a sigh; You have done it by being yourself. Perhaps that is what being a friend means, after all. (Anonymous) Marion: II was one of those shoe-repair marriages — a good soul and a run down heel. I’ve always said my daily prayers For I thought that I should pray. And so I learned the routine ones And said them every day. They were the ones that someone else Had written long ago So they were never quite my own; But how was I to know. Just what to say to God that would Explain to Him my needs When I had everything I wanted? I never thought of it as greed. To ask for more and more of life; For fortune and for great success With all about me friends to make And share my happiness. And so for all the wealth of life — The kind not stored in banks — For just the breath I drew each day, I never thought to offer thanks. But now it seems that I grow wiser With the coming of each day And I am substituting “Thanks” for “Please” When it’s time for me to pray. — Elizabeth Smith A Breakfast Club fan in Hot Springs, Arkansas, who has no hands or feet, frequently writes a long letter by holding a pen in her teeth. Page 15 Dear Mother : This evening many of my buddies who have never known anything else other than love and companionship of our fellow-man, died. They were swell fellows just like the neighbor’s son across the street; the kid behind the drug counter who always seems to wear a smile even though the hours are tough, and too, like all boys in these states of ours, true Americans to the man. Needless to say, they were murdered by rats. They did not have a chance. They will never see their homes, mothers, or the states they loved enough to lay down their lives for again. They wanted no war. They wanted no blood on their hands because they were Americans, and Americans have tried to abide peacefully by the laws of God since the birth of this nation. Yet hundreds of them died. Although, truly the deed is stunning and unbelievable, it is done. We are sure now of what was for a long time doubt¬ ful in our minds, the question of the possibility of an enemy dropping out of nowhere, striking and then van¬ ishing. We know that it could just as easily be our own homes, families and friends that would be the target. There was a time when we could fight our war from the pulpit. It’s more serious now. Our own lives are threatened to the extent that we must fight, or die, and life is too beautiful a thing to throw to a bunch of rats without a fight. We will fight! We will win! Because we fight not only under the greatest country’s colors in the world, but most of all, under God’s colors. Some will die, because the Almighty wills it that way, and we trust everything in God’s judgment. We are not afraid, Mother, because the thought of our loved ones back home suffering any of the pains of war erases all instincts of fear. The gallant men who have met death this day will not have died in vain. We go into this thing with a prayer on our lips; our heads are high, wits keen and eyes wide open. We, as men, don’t pretend to he able to understand the depth of a mother’s love, hut personally, I pray that you, Mother, will put all the feeling, love and consecration of your entire being into prayer, instead of useless worrying, fretting and tears. Although I’m not mentioning any names, I know some slant-eyed sons of Satan who had better get religion quick before those pearly gates slam in their faces. Keep your chin up, Mother, and remember you’re my best girl. ( Written to a Mother after Pearl Harbor) My dear, dear Son : War has been declared! Knowing your deep love for me your first reaction will be “What will Mother think?” so I shall tell you; Today my eyes are filled with tears for I am a woman, and women do not like war. BUT my heart is bursting with pride because I am the mother of a soldier who will fight to protect my country and home from an invading enemy. The war in Europe seemed so shadow-like and unreal, like an interesting hook whose chapters unfolded from day to day, hut now it has ceased to he fiction and is grim reality knocking with mailed fist at our door. The news has depressed your father and I am working overtime to be gay and cheerful to keep him from worrying too much about you. That will he woman’s part in the war, to be cheerful, for morale is as important as arms in this crisis. War is bad — terrible — hut somehow I have a feeling of relief that things have come to a head. For a long time, as you know, I have been troubled that your generation seems to have become soft and self indulgent — too pleas¬ ure-loving, taking all from life and giving little in return. I admit the sin belongs to MY generation. Things were not always easy for us of the older generation, and in our mistaken love and blindness we have tried to shield you younger ones from hardships — forgetting it is by eternal struggle and fighting mankind becomes strong, physically and morally. Alas, my generation has sown the wind and your generation must reap the whirlwind. It seems unfair, but remember when you are paying our debt, we will be suffering a thousandfold because of our mistakes. It is old-fashioned to speak of honor, self- sacrifice and duty — yes, even of God — the family cheque¬ book has taken the place of the family Bible in many homes, but history, especially the Bible (which is the history of mankind), teaches that whenever man has had life too easy he has turned to money-madness, self-indul¬ gence and wickedness. Then have come wars, catastro¬ phes and misery until he turned to God. We are not alone — whole generations of mankind before us have trod the path. So it is our task to cling fast to that which is good, true and noble and find the right path again. I pray we may win victory over our enemies, but even more shall I pray that we win victory over the selfish¬ ness and warring elements within ourselves. When we have gained that victory nothing from without can ever really conquer us. My prayers will wrap you as in a coat of armor, but should it be your lot to pay the supreme price — which God forbid — then it is better to die for a constructive cause than to live an unconstructive life. While war is anything but a constructive thing, I believe the aftermath of this conflict will usher in an era of the greatest spirit¬ ual awakening this world has ever known, I am proud that you will have a share in this work. As you know, we are so much alike you have always been very near and dear to me, and I feel it is fitting that you, of all my children, should be called to fight for the ideals which I have taught you. I would feel dishonored if my son should fail his country and me at this great time in hu¬ man history — I would feel that I had lived in vain. Forgive me if I seem a trifle melodramatic — just re¬ member this is an unusual day in my life. Tomorrow I will write you all the foolish mother-things about eating proper food, keeping your feet dry, etc., but today I am more concerned with your spiritual needs. My love and prayers will be w’ith you always. Wherever you may be sent my heart-beats will keep time to your marching feet, and I pray they will lead to victory. Ever your devoted Mother A MOTHER TO A SON IN SERVICE Wherever you are this day, my precious son, God hold you close, God keep you safe from harm. In this strange victory that must be won It takes your youth, your strength of heart and mind. Your valor and your courage and your might To bring to pass the miracle of peace. God keep you facing forward toward the light That waits ahead for you when war shall cease. Take God as your companion, 0 dear Heart, We must not, dare not face the days alone. With Him for comrade we can do our part And staunchly, bravely face the great unknown. I, too, must be a valiant soldier, for That is what mothers are when there is war. — Grace Noll Crowell I Page 17 :n> k St&** Our Chief Steward He couldn't help being a musician. Prodded by his parents, at an early age he stopped playing with his toes and started on the piano as a child prodigy traveling over the country. Walter was born in Milwaukee, Wis., July 26, 1893. He has black hair, brown eyes, stands 5 ft. 10 in. tall and weighs 165 lbs. When he was 15 he had composed two num¬ bers and used the proceeds to help pay for the home of his parents, to whom he has always been exceptionally devoted. His musical career suffered a serious setback when he broke his wrist, necessitating an opera¬ tion. So he went to school and studied medicine, but soon abandoned bandages for baton and organized a band in 1911, playing for years at Chicago’s Tip Top Inn. He conducted for Calve, Garden, Raisa and composed such hits as “Your Eyes Have Told Me So,” which sold over 2,500,000 copies and “My Isle of Golden Dreams,” which did even better. He took several trips to Europe, got into real estate, became very wealthy, then real estate got to him, and he got out, not very wealthy. Walter is an insatiable diner, likes to play handball and the horses (especially the last horse in any given race), and spent most of the latter part of 1942 recuperating from an illness. He has been married for a long time (according to Mrs. Blaufuss) . see**1' ? ORCHESTRA REHEARSING MUSIC FOR SHOW & Page 11) COMPANIONSHIP ■iwV2)! 5 There have been two changes in the personnel of this act who specialize in smart, modern arrangements. The original Betty (Betty Olsen) has married and been replaced by Helen (Betty) Nash. This vivacious song¬ stress is escorted by Cliff Petersen, Floyd Holm, and Ted Clare, whose real name is Hansen. Doug Craig, pianist and arranger, who joined the navy, has been supplanted by Ken Thompson, who carries on in the same capacity. Not too deep a military secret is the fact that the hoys, who hail from Duluth, Minnesota, also double as the “Swedehearts of St. Paul” — an act which comes to them quite naturally. Romeos Until Uncle Sam called, it used to be Sam, Gil, and Louie. The latter two unmarried members — Gil Jones and Louie Perkins are now in the army — while Sam Cowling, complete with his wife and two offsprings, continues with Carl (Larry) Chase and Boyce (Bill) Smith. The original trio started in Jeffersonville, Ind., and the hoys under Sam’s tutelage, still specialize in Hill Billy Hammy Drammies and (usually) funny songs and sayings. .a ■i Vagabonds One of the greatest colored quartettes, the four boys who started in St. Louis specialize in instrumental imitations, spirituals and jive. Robert O’Neal, Norval Taborn, John Jordan and Ray Grant are the boys’ right names — but they are more often known as Lewishous, Cyclone, Security and Contagious. Ray, with his deep bass voice, lias created a sensation on Breakfast Club as “Pappy” with his “How-do gals” and crazy recipes. Cadets Originally it was Al, Cal, Sam and Lonnie — with Reo Fletcher at the piano. Lonnie’s unfortunate death sev¬ eral years ago, and the fact that Sam is now Col. Sam Thompson of the U. S. Army, have resulted in two new voices — that of Homer Allen (Snodgrass) of Arkansas, and Ralph Nyland of Boston — being added to those of Al Stracke and Carl Schiebe. Reo continues at the piano, and frequently raises his voice three octaves to become “Little Oleetha.” One of the finest legitimate quartettes in radio, listeners especially enjoy them at “Hymn Time.” 3 Page 25 Vi - ■■■ : TEN YEARS OF BREAKFAST CLUB HISTORY IQQO Formerly known as the “Pepper Pot” under the leadership of Bill Ivephart and King Bard as announcers, with Walter Blaufuss and a small or¬ chestra, this hour of net¬ work “fill-in” was re-chris¬ tened “Breakfast Club,” and on June 23, Don McNeill be¬ came “messer of ceremo¬ nies.” Charlie Butler, the engineer, and Sleepy Joe Englehart and his violin, were familiar names. The vocalist was Dick Teela. This year saw the advent of Bug Dance, Memory Time, the One-Act Plays and Elmer. DICK TEELA 10^4. Ringing acts were added to the show. Old Time Breakfast Clubbers will recall the fine appear¬ ances of Marion and Jim Jordon (now Fibber McGee and Molly), the Merry Macs, Songfelloivs, Three C’s, Morin Sisters, Ranch Boys, Fields and Bill Thompson. In March JACK OWENS the first out - of - the - studio broadcast occurred, a pickup from Florida, where Babe Buth wras entertaining fifty youngsters at the Yankee Training Camp. In April Jack Owens replaced Dick Teela and in October, with¬ in a week. Jack became the father of Mary Anne Owens, and Don McNeill the proud papa of Tommy. Boy! . . . and how they bragged!! 1 QOC Familiar names this Igvw year wrere Gale Page, The King’s Jesters, Hollywood Hi-Hatters, Ban¬ gers, Mary Steele, 3 Flats, Sylvia Clark, Dr. Pratt and the Doring Sisters. Edna O’Dell became the first regu¬ lar girl vocalist. Orchestra names to be remembered: Arrigoni, Martin (both de¬ ceased), Faschaur, Spiegle, Kayser, Short, Krenz, Koo- den, Kendle, Wheeler, Bal- lentine, Smith. Many are EDNA 0 DELL still with the band. World Cruises in fantasy were a part of the year’s entertainment. In December, Tommy and Mary Ann, at the ripe old age of 14 months, made their radio debut. Page 26 !■ 1999 Perhaps the year’s highlight was the famous “Breakfast in Bed” broadcast with Don fulfilling a long felt ambition to con¬ duct the show, pajama-clad, from his own bed at home, complete with wife and kid¬ dies, while Jack, Annette and the orchestra carried on from the studio. The book of poems “Memory Time” made its appearance. “In¬ spiration Time” was added “Breakfast in Bed’’ to the show, the Ranch Boys left to travel 4,000 miles across country on horseback, and Annette King became Mrs. Frank Reid, Jr. 1 QPQ 1° May> Annette left IwMv to await the arrival of Sir Stork - — who made a later personal appearance with a swell baby girl. In February, Baker became every-day soloist, no longer dividing male vocal honors. Among others, Ralph Smith and his “Mokey” . . . Bill Krenz and his piano . . . Elmer and his romance, the Dinning Sisters, Vass Fam¬ ily, Vagabonds, Cadets, Mo¬ rin Sisters, and Escorts and Betty carried on with Don. Evelyn Lynne and Nancy Martin became Breakfast Club regulars. Ralph and “Mokey” 4 Page 27 Ihpp In March, Clark Dennis became of¬ ficial tenor, shortly preced¬ ed by Helen Jane Behlke as the feminine half of the team. When the funeral services for King George were broadcast before Break¬ fast Club, Walter Blaufuss and Don composed “My Ca¬ thedral” — still a favorite hymn with listeners. Donny was added to the McNeill family in April and in Sep- BOB BROWN tember the Breakfast Club was awarded the Radio Guide Medal of Merit as an outstanding program. In November, Annette King and Jack Baker joined the fold, along with Bob Brown, “Prime minister of the perco¬ lator.” 1937 Aunt Fanny made XVVi her debut, along with Johnny Johnston. Clark Dennis left to join Fibber McGee’s show. The Three Romeos crawled out of the woodwork and started to sing. Jack and Annette car¬ ried on, Helen Jane Behlke departed, and on Christmas morning, driving to the stu¬ dios with a car full of gifts for underprivileged children who were guests that day, Don was arrested for speed¬ ing. HELEN JANE BEHLKE Readers of Radio G u i d e picked Breakfast Club as their favorite program and Don as favorite M. C. Nancy, Evelyn and Jack rated tops. Don built his log cabin “Lumbago Manor” (it has a creek in the back). More than 120 radio station repre¬ sentatives and agency men attended a broad¬ cast— an unofficial record in early-rising for wireless executives. Local sponsorship on individual stations was a huge success. Listed on the roster of sponsors wrere jewelers, bakers, grocers, laundries, dairies, refrigerators, furniture companies, headache remedies, department stores, auto dealers. Members of the cast received samples of almost every product sold except from the automobile manufacturers. 1 Q4_1 Again Radio Guide readers placed the Breakfast Club, its singers, and master of ceremonies on top of its list of air favorites. Swift & Company became coast-to-coast sponsor No. 1. Over 100,000 fans sent their autographs to Jack Baker for his Scrap Book — reversing the usual process. Don built a new' home in Winnetka, deciding it was cheaper than getting sued for back rent; and in October, Cream of Wheat and Acme Paint became members of the sponsor family. Evelyn Lynne left to marry Eddie Ivoontz and live in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Marion Mann now shared honors with Nancy. The Swedehearts of St. Paul were born in the minds of the Escorts and Robert Patrick McNeill (No. 3) was born to Mrs. McNeill. 100,000 Names 1 04-2 a resu*t an honorary degree at Saint Bonaventure College it wms now Mr. Donald Thomas McNeill, Doctor of Letters, or Dr. McNeill for short, but not for long. While Walter Blaufuss recuper¬ ated, Kogen and Gallichio carried on. The cast began drawing straws to promote the sale of bonds and stamps, as war quickened the tempo and morale-building value of the show. In cooperation with the U. S. Treasury, 400 Bond Breakfasts were held throughout the nation. In a broadcast from Chicago’s breakfast on American Heroes Day, over $25,000,000 in bonds were sold. Don started his tenth year as M. C. and Radio Guide listeners made him “Star of Stars.” The first anniversary of Swift spon¬ sorship was celebrated. Cream of Wheat was amongst 4 ■:w^fSVvi. those present. The Quiz Kids and Don exchanged appear¬ ances. Hollywood finally discovered that there was a Breakfast Club and offers to make a movie were being considered by the gang. The Breakfast Clubbers were appearing in person more and more often throughout the country at large bond rallies, Army Camps and patriotic affairs. Now an American institution, the show is the nation’s official getter-upper! 1943? 1944? 1945? 1946? £ - Page 29 9 ■iw^fSVvi' REHEARSAL Well, sir, after all these years, one of the most care¬ fully guarded secrets of radio is out, exposed by Oper¬ atives K-9 and H-2-0 after weeks of stealthy kibitzing behind the scenes. The truth revealed is that Breakfast Club does have a rehearsal! As proof, our operatives offer a transcript taken via dictaphone, at a meeting of the Breakfast Club Rehearsal Guild and Planning Board. The meeting, held after the show any morning, was at a large table in a restaurant where the gang gathered before rationing for a second cup of coffee. McNeill — Jack, you got your numbers cleared for to¬ morrow? Baker — Yup. McNeill — How about you, Nancy? Martin — Yup. McNeill — Walter (Blaufuss), got some good tunes on? Both — Yup. McNeill — Well, I guess we’re set then. Baker — What you gonna talk about tomorrow? McNeill — Dunno, something funny, I hope! Martin — How about me getting a phone call from home? I could tell them about the new dresses I saw in the loop. McNeill — Oh — getting fancy with Nancy, huh? Baker — It ain’t bad. How about a poem about my budget? McNeill — Yeah, or about your car. Baker — What’s my car got to do with it? McNeill — Well, you could say you make out your budget every week. Baker — Yeah. McNeill — But this morning your car wouldn’t run so you couldn’t budget. & *»C^u 9 Martin — Say — that’s pretty good. Baker — Not bad. McNeill — Say, I’ll use it. What time you want to bowl this afternoon? Martin — How about taking me with you? McNeill — You sure you want to? We bowl for high stakes, you know. Martin — That’s okay with me— I’ve got a spare dime. Baker — That ain’t bad. McNeill — RemiiuJ me to use that in the morning, too. Martin — Well, may I go with you? McNeill — Sure. Martin — Well, I’ll see you then. McNeill — Separate checks. Marlin — Separate checks. Baker — Sav — that ain’t bad. I LOOK AT LIFE SOMETIMES I think that God in His love Looks down from His throne in heaven above; And if He weren’t so wise and so true Would almost laugh at the things that we do— Taking and giving with never a thought Of a price we must pay for what we have bought; How all our struggles for that thing and this Could, at His summons be thrown amiss. I’m certain, were He a less kindly Lord Would long ages since, have grown very bored And possibly could have set up a stand And charge for a “peek” at this funny old land. But, no, He just nods and says with a smile — They’ll all stumble back here — after a while. — Loretta V. Snyder -ICv! C8S Page 30 EARFUL FOR BRIDES Just because your hair is curly, And your teeth are white and pearly, And your figure’s very lovely, and you’re cute — Don’t imagine, for a minute, That it’s bunk, there’s something in it, When I issue this grave warning — FEED THE BRUTE! Wedded bliss is very simple, Just forget about your dimple, Mobilize your thoughts ’round hubby’s inner man — Study goulash and boloney, And pig’s feet and macaroni, And get chummy with a pot and frying pan. If you’d win a loyal booster, Every Sunday boil a rooster, With a peck of noodles draped around its frame — Feed him waffles smeared with honey. And you’ve got his love and money, And you’ll never need to fear some other dame. Men are lugs and heels and sinners, When they’re hungry for their dinners, And just spoiling for a chance to bawl you out — But they’re mild beyond comparing When they’re gorged on pickled herring, Or their tummy’s full of beans and sauerkraut. Never mind your swell complexion, And your eyebrow’s arched perfection, It’s a kitchen apron now that makes you cute — It’s a sad fact, but don’t doubt it, For there’s no two ways about it, If you’d have a happy marriage — FEED THE BRUTE! ( Author Unknown) THE FINISHED NURSE (From the “Entre Nous” of Hartford Hospital Training School for Nurses.) If you can keep your bed when those about you Are losing theirs and moving in on you; If you can trust yourself when M.D.’s doubt you And keep within your proper limits, too; If you can keep a heap of laundry linen And have it ready early Monday morn, And lose it, start anew with smiles most winning And not regret the day that you were born; If you can give a bath in fifteen minutes And dress a wound, nor lose the sterile touch; If you can keep on good terms with your roommate, If all men count with you but none too much; If you can learn the art of good suggestion, And practice it and not talk nurse’s shop; If you can answer any doctor’s question, And decrease Digitalis gtt. by gtt., Sponge, miss your supper and admit a patient; Report at roll call and get off at eight, Attend a lecture and get put on special And then get sat on for a weary gait; If you have in your heart the hope of winning Only the good, and not deceitful fame; If you can see life ending and beginning And treat the two imposters just the same; If you can live on five or six odd dollars And dress as well as with a fuller purse, You’ve done the stunt and everything that’s in it; And then, my dear, you are a finished nurse. Page ,1 A LETTER FROM A SON TO HIS DEAD FATHER Dear Dad : I am writing this to you, though you have been dead thirty years. I feel I must say some things to you, things I didn’t know when I was a boy in your house, and things that I was too stupid to say. It is only now, after passing through the long, hard school of years, only now when my hair is grey, that I understand how you felt. I must have been a bitter trial to you. I believed my own petty wisdom, and I know now how ridiculous it was compared to the calm, ripe, wholesome wisdom that was yours. Most of all, I want to confess my worst sin against you. It was the feeling I had that you did not under¬ stand; you understood me better than I did myself. Your wisdom flowed around mine as an ocean around an island. How patient you were with me; how full of long suffering and kindness. How pathetic, it now comes home to me, were your efforts to get close to me, to win my confidence, to be my pal. I wouldn’t let you. I couldn’t. What was it that held me aloof? I didn’t knowr, but it was tragic, that wall that rises between a boy and his father, and their frantic attempts to see through it and climb over it. I wish you were here now, across the table from me, just for one hour, so that I could tell you how there’s no wall anymore. 1 understand you now, Dad, and God how I love you and wish I could go back and be your boy again. I know now how I could make you happy every day. I know how you felt. It took a good many years for this prodigal son, and all sons are in a measure prodi¬ gal, to come to himself. I’ve come. I see it all now. I Page 32 - 9 know what a rich and priceless thing, and one least understood, is that mighty love and tenderness and crav¬ ing to help, which a father feels toward his boy, for I have a hoy of my own. It is he that makes me want to go hack to you and get down on my knees and ask you to hear me, Dad, and believe me. (Author Unknown) LIFE'S WEAVING My life is hut a weaving Between my God and me; I may not choose the colors, He knows what they should be; For He can view the pattern Upon the upper side, While I can see it only On this, the lower side. Sometimes He weaveth sorrow, Which seemeth strange to me; But I will trust His judgment, And work on faithfully; ’Tis He Who fills the shuttle. He knows just what is best, So I shall weave in earnest And leave with Him the rest. At last when life is ended, With Him I shall abide, Then I may view the pattern Upon the upper side; Then I shall know the reason Why pain, with joy entwined. Was woven in the fabric Of life that God designed. — Father Tabb 4 gfemaining faithful every livelong day, If you can keep your courage up, and boost it, Yes! boost the Church right on, until the end, You’ll prove yourself a very Noble Human, And what is more, you’ll be a SAINT, my FRIEND! (Author Unknown) One time Breakfast Club inaugurated a “3-Minute-Egg- Timing-Service” for people who were fixing soft-boiled eggs for breakfast. However, Don forgot to ring the bell for seven minutes and folks all over the country had hard-boiled eggs that morning. -pi¬ page 34 A RECIPE FOR COOKING A HUSBAND A good many husbands are utterly spoiled by mismanagement. Some women go about it as if their husbands were balloons, and blow them up. Others keep them constantly in hot water. Others let them freeze by their carelessness and indifference. Some keep them in a stew by irritating ways and words. Others roast them. Some keep them in a pickle all their lives. It is not supposed that any husband will be tender and good, managed in this way. But they are really delicious when properly treated. In selecting your husband, you should not be guided by the silvery appearance as in buying a mackerel; not by the golden tint as if you wanted a salmon. Be sure to select the finest to be had. See that the linen in which you wrap him is nicely washed and mended with the required number of buttons and strings tightly sewed on. Tie him in the kettle with the strong silken cord called “Comfort,” as the one called “Duty” is often weak. Make a clean steady fire out of love’s neatness and cheerfulness. Set him as near the fire as seems to agree with him. If he sputters and sizzles, do not he anxious. Some hus¬ bands do this until they are quite done. Add a little sugar in the form of what confectioners call kisses. But no vinegar or pepper, on any account. A little spice im¬ proves him, but it must be used with judgment. Do not stick any sharp instrument into him to see if he is tender. Stir him gently, watching the while, lest he lie too flat and close to the kettle and become useless. You cannot fail to know when he is done. Thus treated, you will find him reliable, agreeing with you and the children, and will keep as long as you want him unless you become careless and set him in a cold place. (A tested recipe by a mother who raised five children.) THE MODERN SALESMAN •WKCTi Some folks may think that a modern salesman has a fairly easy time of it. Well, to my mind, a salesman nowadays must he a man of vision and ambition, a before and after dinner speaker, a night owl, and a day hawk. He must drive all night and appear strictly fresh the next day, learn to sleep on the lloor and eat two meals a day to economize on traveling expenses. He must be able to entertain without becoming too amorous, inhale dust, drive thru snow 12 feet deep at 10 below and work all summer without perspiring. He must be a man’s man, a ladies’ man, a model husband, a fatherly father, a devoted son-in-law, a good provider, a plutocrat, democrat, republican, a new dealer, old dealer and a fast dealer. He must be a sales promotion expert, credit manager, correspondent, attend all jobber clinics, dealer meetings, tournaments, funerals and births, visit customers in hospitals as well as jails. He must have a car or a good thumb. He must also be an expert driver, talker, liar, dancer, traveler, bridge player, poker hound, toreador, golf player, diplomat, financier, capitalist and philanthropist ... an authority on palmistry, chemistry, archaeology, psychology, mete¬ orology, criminology . . . dogs, cats, horses, trailers, blondes, red heads, lingerie and no-fattening candy for the sales girls. He must also have the curiosity of a cat, the tenacity of a bulldog, the determination of a taxi cab driver, the diplomacy of a wayward husband, the patience of a self- sacrificing wife, the enthusiasm of a jitterbug, the good humor of a silly master of ceremonies, the simplicity of a jackass, the assurance of a college boy, and the tireless energy of a collector of past due bills. That’s all it takes. C KISSES There are many kinds of kisses among which are the duty dab; the soul kiss, which is a sort of serial; the polit¬ ical kiss such as candidates give to babies; the double- barrelled kiss which whiskered generals bestow upon heroes; and the inimitable kiss which results when a wad of chewing gum gets tangled up with an embryonic mustache. ❖ * * KISS CAKE RECIPE Take: 1 armful of pretty girl 1 loving face 2 laughing eyes 2 rosy cheeks 2 lips like strawberries Mix together and press two lips. The result will be amazing. For frosting; Take piece of dark piazza and a little moonlight and press into one large or small hand (so as not to attract attention); two oz. of romance and one or two whispers. Dissolve half glance into a quantity of hesitation and two oz. of yielding. Place kisses on blush¬ ing cheeks . . . then add to lips . . . flavor with a slight scream and set aside to cool! DEFINITIONS Blue eyes gaze at mine . Soft hands clasped in mine Fine hair brushing mine . Red lips close to mine . Lithe body close to mine . Footsteps . Vexation Palpitation Expectation Temptation Aspiration Consternation Page 35 REMEMBER THE TIME— A downstate Illinois woman con¬ fided that she felt pretty useless just sitting and listening; ordinari¬ ly, she heard the show while doing the breakfast dishes (?). Don McNeill immediately sent out to the sound effects department for a tank of water and an armload of assorted crockery. “I can’t work without an apron, this is my Sunday dress,” said his practical guest. The gal¬ lant McNeill doffed the coat to his new summer suit and converted it into a utilitarian coverall. “There doesn’t seem to be much point in washing dishes,” the lady pointed out, “they’re pretty clean.” The unstumpable Don sent post haste to the downstairs restaurant for food with which to soil the dishes. As far as breakfast was concerned, Don’s guest wasn’t having any — she’d et; however, a small hoy in the audience handled that hurdle. Don had forgotten rubber gloves and then getting water just the right temperature took another 15 minutes and left 10 minutes to go. But the final hurdle looked insur¬ mountable — no soap. Luckily, how¬ ever, a member of the audience from out of town had stayed over¬ night in a loop hotel, and naturally had a bar of soap in her suitcase! * * * The Breakfast Club gang unwit¬ tingly prevented a marriage from breaking up? A woman in a New York town wrote that she had de¬ cided to leave her husband and, in fact, had sent the children to her mother, packed up, and was wait¬ ing for a cab when she turned on the radio to kill time. First she heard Jack Baker singing “I Walk with Music,” immediately followed by McNeill’s Memory Time period, in which he read a poem about married life and the duties of a wife to her family. By this time, the woman had changed her mind completely. When the cab came she dismissed it, unpacked and sent for the children. A watermelon weighing over one hundred pounds was received from Hope, Ark., and consumed on the air — Baker and Pappy’s children getting the greater share. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!” 4 Page 36 Jack Baker did a song attired in red flannels . . . proving that there’s many a slip, etc.? The studio visitors included a woman who was heading back to England after arriving in Chicago a few weeks before, to leave her six year old son with relatives (?) . She was heading for an unknown port in an unknown ship, having been assigned to Red Cross duty in the Midlands. Sometime, about six weeks later her son appeared again on the Breakfast Club and his mother was able to hear his voice in England at three o’clock in the afternoon. What a thrill that must have been for her! ❖ ❖ * Jack and Don discussed whether or not they should give free plugs to grapefruit in Baker’s poems!?). A man and his wife, in the comfort of their breakfast nook down in Texas heard the argument. “It’s funny,” said the husband, “that when he mentioned grapefruit pro¬ ducing states he mentioned Florida and California but left out Texas.” The Mrs. answered, “Your hearing’s defective ... he did mention Tex¬ as.” An argument started . . . “I’ll bet you half my interest in the grove against your half interest that he didn’t!” snapped he. “You’re on,” shouted his wife, with a gleam in her eye and immediately called up Don who admitted that he had indeed mentioned Texas . . . so Mr. lost his plants! * * * Five years ago in St. Paul, Minn., a housewife decided to repay some of the entertainment she had re¬ ceived as a listener by making a crocheted tablecloth for M.C. Don McNeill and his family!?). Daily, thereafter she spent 45 minutes cro¬ cheting “wheels” for the tablecloth while listening to the Breakfast Club. Having finished the project, she put the tablecloth momentarily on a pile of papers in the kitchen so that she could answer the tele¬ phone. The apartment janitor came in while she was talking on the phone, picked up the papers, and unknowingly, the tablecloth. Soon her five years of needlework had gone up in smoke. In 1947, pro¬ vided no other disaster intervenes, the McNeills will receive another hand crocheted tablecloth, she says. Walter Blaufuss answered a chal¬ lenge that threatened to upset his reputation as the biggest eater on the Breakfast Club, issued by a fan from Shoemakersville, Pa. (?) . It was reliably reported that the challenger had disposed of 114 clams at one sitting, little neck and all. But Blaufuss won, hands down, in a broadcast. It was somewhat of a jolt to the group to discover they put a hus¬ band in the dog house!?). McNeill received a letter from an Ohio housewife, chiding him for not sending her his photograph, which she’d “requested exactly seven times.” Don hastily sent the photo with a note to the effect that some¬ thing must have gone wrong some¬ where — his files showed no other letter from her. He received a bul¬ ky letter in return and a checkup revealed not only the handful of letters to McNeill but several others in her husband’s coat pocket. % * * Long before the radio ban on weather reports Don observed that he and the cast were going to pro¬ ceed to blow away whatever local l- Page fog might exist across the country? The entertainers thereupon gave vent in unison to a loud “pfooo!” The whoosh hardly died out of the nation’s loud speakers when Don McNeill received a call from Keo¬ kuk that local skies were clearing. More calls of similar purport came in from Cleveland and Denver. Next day the weatherman reported clear skies from the Atlantic to the Pacific. However, the McNeill Fog Lifting Service produced some odd by-products. One fan claimed that the radio draft had completely cooled off his cup of coffee. * * * Don granted the last request of a U.S. Marine, a World War veter¬ an, for whose life doctors at Ellis Island, N. Y., had given up hope, to see the Breakfast Club, and visit his sister in Seattle? * * * Jack Baker grew’ a mustache to prove he wasn’t a tenor at heart? * * * A pajama manufacturer sent every member of the cast a nice new pair of pajamas so they wouldn’t have to bother dressing before the show? - Page 38 A little girl in Hewlett, N. Y., deathly sick, heard her song re¬ quest played on Breakfast Club and miraculously recovered? * * * Listeners w'ere invited to do the “rug dances” — that is, pull their living room rug up by the roots, pull down the shades, and flit gracefully through the house? Many listeners reported that they actually followed instructions, in fact, one lady in Trenton, N. J., danced so hard that a rain spout shook loose from the roof and hit a maid who was shaking a rug out of the window below’ . . . also in time to the Breakfast Club orches¬ tra? * * # A Burkettsville, Ohio, fan sent in a letter which measured 7x5 feet? * * * A dentist was found in the audi¬ ence and the cast turned the tables on him by making him stuff his mouth w7ith chocolate candy and then firing questions at him thick and fast? One of the best gags ever pulled! One day’s mail brought three boxes of fruit, some Florida sea shells, a set of cactus ash trays, four live alligators, two sets of false teeth, a bird house, three dolls, a rubber fish, a cowboy hat, and a summons? * * ❖ Don overslept and made the story on the next page untrue? * * * Jack pumps the water, Don holds the mike, and a studio guest sham¬ poos Benng Gill’s hair. - 1^, Don has only been late for the show three times — twice it was the train’s fault, and the third time it was a terrific blizzard, of which McNeill said “I opened the front door, turned and waved goodbye to the wife and kid¬ dies, stepped out on the front porch, and disappeared for 20 minutes.” The only persons who arrived on time that morn¬ ing were Walter Blaufuss, the engi¬ neer and a bass player. By the time the show was three- fourths over, there was finally a quo¬ rum of the cast present. Bundling, eh? Some of the persons, very important to Breakfast Club, but little known to its listeners are Sidney Strotz (now one of radio’s top executives) who insisted on hiring Don McNeill for Breakfast Club over the vetoes of his asso¬ ciates; the brave engineers and ditto producers, like Bob White, who sit in the control room throughout the hour; Virginia Holleman, secretary to Don and Jack, who has to listen to that stuff all day long; the personnel of the many radio stations carrying the program — managers, announcers, engineers, switchboard operators, etc., who are among our best boosters; the present big shots of the Blue Network in New York and Chicago, with special bows to Ed Borroff, V.P., Jim Stirton, program manager, and Joe Hartenbower, demon salesman, who allow the show to go on its own sweet way; and the loyal fans who write week after week, year after year. A SHUT-IN'S PRAYER Last night the moon pulled anchor And sailed down the milky way And peeped into a sanatorium window Where a lonely shut-in lay. Then the moon seemed to shine more brightly, Each star seemed to nod its head, And the world seemed all the more peaceful When they heard what the shut-in said : “Dear Lord in Heaven, I earnestly pray to Thee. You’ll hear my prayer, now won’t you? And lay a healing hand on me? I trust I am not asking Too much of your healing wealth, When I so humbly ask of you To give me back my health. Dear God, the world forgets me — I’ve been a shut-in so very long, I’m needing your love, dear Jesus, I’ve still in my heart a song.” The moon sailed on its journey The stars twinkled up above The shut-in drifted to dreamland — What is greater than God’s love? (Author Unknown) Don: IIow is your car runnin’? Sam: Tirelessly. Tirelessly! Page S$5V' - - ? A TOAST TO MOTHER 1 will drink this toast to the woman I love. To the woman who has been the beacon light of my life; it matters not where I may be tossed upon life’s perilous waves, when the storms rage about me and the wild billows roll high, she stands as a lighthouse signal¬ ing to me a port of safety and ever welcome refuge. To the woman whose tender words fell upon my ears as music sweeter than melodies played by an angel upon harp strings of gold. To the noble woman who pressed the first kiss upon my brow, and who first suffered that I might live; whose tender hand rocked the cradle of my infancy; whose ever watching eye safely guarded me through the primrose days of childhood; who weathered me through the storms of youth and whose unselfish life is ever ready to sacri¬ fice, if such sacrifice will but pay the price of my liberty, welfare or success. To the woman who has been to me a shelter from the rain, a fortress in danger, and an inspiration in defeat; who is the first to smile and applaud me when success crowns my efforts, and the first to weep and console me when the clouds of sorrow hover close about me. To the woman who was my first love in life’s rosy springtime, and the only true sweetheart I have ever had; who is my only true and certain friend; who, when all others have deserted me, and when life seems one cold and barren peak, will be with me and near me till the last, and, who, with one kind word, can bring out the sunlight hidden behind the heaviest cloud. To the woman who has been to me what the diamond is to the gold; to me what the fragrance is to the rose; to me what the sunlight is to the day. To the woman whose purity is unsurpassed by the - Page 40 snow that crowns the hilltops or the spotless lily of the field, and whose whole life has been that of an angel, though on earth, and that of a queen, though uncrowned. To the woman whom God in His goodness gave to me as a friend; whom I may trust without fear of treason; upon whom I can depend without fear of desertion and that I may love her and know her as my own Dear Mother. (Anonymous) AS HIS MOTHER USED TO DO He criticized her pudding and he found fault with her cake; He wished she’d make some biscuits as his mother used to make. She didn’t wash the dishes and she didn’t make a stew, Nor even mend his socks as his mother used to do. His mother had six children, but by night her work was done; His wife seemed always drudging, tho’ she only had the one. His mother always was well dressed, his wife might be so, too, If she would only manage as his mother used to do. Ah! Well, she was not perfect, but she tried to do her best Until she thought her time had come to have a rest. So when one day she went the same old rigamarole all through She turned him up and spanked him, as his mother used to do. (Author Unknown) MOTHER iv*7)i5Vvi Too late, clear, I realized how much you meant to me, and all you have done for me. May God, in His infinite kindness, have mercy on your soul, my guiding star, and may yours be the Kingdom of Heaven. Day and night, Mother, I shall always pray for your soul, pray that God will give you the just reward you so richly deserve. I’d scoff at your sensitiveness, your tears, which of late, fell so often, dear. When you became ill, I begged you to smile, to wipe that unhappy look from your face. I brushed your hair, grey with care and worry, from your forehead, and kissed you so tenderly. It was as if God were telling me that soon you would be gone and no more would I have a chance to gaze at you, dearest Mother. May God give me some of the strength which never ceased in your life. You taught me compassion, toler¬ ance, and independence. May I ever be the way you would like me to be, Madonna, so that your soul will never know unrest. To me you were always a hero. Not once would you let us think that yours was the life of a Martyr. Bravely you did a man’s job, never complaining, always confident that we never had to use anybody because you still had strength enough to go out and work for us. You never failed us ever, and whenever I asked you why you never stopped doing those everlasting favors for us, wisely you told us that when you were gone, we could always remember you and think kindly of you. If you did not love us as much as you did, you might have been here with us today. Instead of caring for yourself, even near the end, you put us first to your life. The only way I can ever let you know how sorry I am that I couldn’t have been a better daughter is to pray to God always that He may grant you the rest you earned. Often when I am desolate and lonely, I vision your beautiful face, with its happy smile, telling me to “take it easy,” and everything will be all right. — Evelyn Namnoun WHY GOD GAVE US MOTHERS Dedicated to the Breakfast Club mothers by Aunt Ida Sandage, Louisville, Ky. There had to be someone to care Someone to grieve when we’re not there Someone to offer up a prayer When we are weak and sinning! Someone just has to love us still When all the world has used us ill. And aid us with unflagging will To start a new beginning! Someone just has to think we’re great Proud lords and masters of our Fate, And give us praise that will elate So we can beat our brothers! Somebody has to cheer us on And aid us when all hope is gone To bravelv face another dawn, And so God gave us— MOTHERS! A general and a colonel were walking down the street. They met many privates and each time the colonel saluted he would mutter “same to you.” The general’s curiosity got the best of him and he asked “Why do you always say that?” To which the colonel answered “l was once a private and I know what they’re thinking.” ■I Page MOTHERHOOD Down in the valley of shadow we go, How far in those depths, we never know, Months of waiting, hours of pain, Then it’s over, we’re smiling again. A kiss from the Daddy and to see his proud smile, Then to hold in your arms your own baby child, That’s Heaven, that only a Mother can know. And it’s worth all the suffering thru which we must go. Oh the mighty strength of those wee baby hands, That clasp two hearts together like iron bands, Those dear little arms two hearts will entwine With a love that’s so sacred it’s almost divine. Have you ever wondered, if it is really worthwhile, To hold in your arms your own baby child? My dear I will tell you — if I had my choice Of some wonderful talent, a beautiful voice, A gorgeous home with enormous wealth, Together with these I’d have strength and health, But in order to have them it must be understood That I’d be denied the joy of Motherhood. Oh I might have been tempted, had I never been blest With the joys of clasping a babe to my breast, I might have been tempted, had I not known the bliss Of a baby’s arms and a baby’s kiss. For each new babe gets the same tender care, When another one comes, there is more love to spare. We may want a daughter and receive a little son, But we’re happy and contented when all is said and done. Page 42 4 In this world of ours, no home is complete, That has not known the patter of little feet. And no woman can give to this world her best, Until with Motherhood her life is blest. — Edna Allen Exchenback FRIENDS I think that God will never send A gift so precious as a friend, A friend who always understands And fills each need as it demands Whose loyalty will stand the test, When skies are bright or overcast. Who sees the faults that merit blame. But keeps on loving just the same; Who does far more than creeds could do To make us good, to make us true, Earth’s gifts a sweet enjoyment lend But only God can give a friend. — Dr. Bosalie Carter, Franklin, Tennessee Funny how limes have advanced. Grandmother used a roller towel, a comb suspended by a string and a dipper shared by everyone, and probably lived to be eighty or ninety years old. Now we get exhausted before our lime finding out what we’re allergic to. But there’s one thing that hasn’t changed. When your fiance’s family begin balling you out for using the guest towel, you've become accepted as one of the family. A settled married man is a guy whose pipe goes out oftener than he does. A FATHER'S CONFESSION TO HIS SON Listen, Son: I am saying this to you as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a hot, stifling wave of remorse swept over me. I could not resist it. Guiltily I came to your bedside. These are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when I found you had thrown some of your things on the floor. At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a little hand and called, “Good¬ bye!” and I frowned, and said, “Hold your shoulders back.” Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As 1 came up the hill road I spied you down on your knees playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boy-friends by making you march ahead of me back to the house. Stockings were expensive — and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father! It was such stupid, silly logic. Do you remember, lately, when I was reading in the library, how you came in, softly, timidly, with a sort of hurt, hunted look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. “What is it you want?” I snapped. woisvvi' You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge; and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, again and again, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God has set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs. Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. Suddenly I saw myself as I really was, in all my horrible selfishness, and I felt sick at heart. What had habit been doing to me? The habit of complaining, of finding fault, of reprimanding — all of these were my rewards to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you, it was that I expected so much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years. And there was so much that was good, and fine, and true in your character. You did not deserve my treat¬ ment of you, son. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. All this was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, so I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, choking with emotion, and so ashamed! It is a feeble atonement. I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours, yet I must say what I am saying. I must burn sacrificial fires alone, here in your bedroom, and make free confes¬ sion. And I have prayed God to strengthen me in my new resolve. Tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer and laugh when you laugh. I’ll be a real daddy. (Author Unknown) Gentlemen prefer bonds — ask the man who owns one. Page ? Breakfast Club Alumni Fibber McGee and Molly, or Marion and Jim Jordan as they were “knowed as in them days” when they were Breakfast Club favorites. Here we have charming Annette King (Reid) in her Breakfast Club Days. * * * Evelyn Lynne used to struggle daily with her Diary.”' ‘Dear & Page 44 ■iK’SfgVs?! The girl in the upper circle is Jeanette; then come the Cheery Sisters with their cousin Doug Craig; and upper right is Aunt Fanny talking to her¬ self (Fran Allison). Left and center are the Ranch Boys and Morin Sisters — to their right, the Dinnings — and the two handsome ex-Breakfast Club singers, Clark Dennis and Johnny Johnston. Lower left are the Merry Macs — next Bill Thompson in his “Mister Wimple” get up — and last — lovely Gale Page — re¬ member? Page 45 - ■ . . IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS? (From the New York Sun of September ‘21, IS!) 7 ) We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is among the friends of The Sun: “Dear Editor : / am eight years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says ‘If you see it in The Sun it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus? — Virginia O’ Hanlon, 115 \V. Ninety-fifth St.” Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not compre¬ hensible by their little minds. All minds, VIRGINIA, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole truth and knowledge. Not believe in SANTA CLAUS! You might as well not believe in fairies! You know generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no SANTA CLAUS. It would he as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would he no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would he extinguished. Not believe in SANTA CLAUS! You might as well not Page 46 ■iwf believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch SANTA CLAUS, but even if they did not see SANTA CLAUS coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees SANTA CLAUS, but that is no sign that there is no SANTA CLAUS. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders that are unseen and unseeable in the world. You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the super¬ nal beauty and glory beyond. It is all real! Ah, VIR¬ GINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No SANTA CLAUS! Thank God! he lives, and lives forever. A thousand years from now, VIRGINIA, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood. There was a fellow who hadn’t been to church for some time who met the preacher on the street one day. He said to the minister: “Would you please pray Sunday for Esmerelda?” The preacher was mighty pleased that here was a man coming back to the fold so he }>romised he would pray for Esmerelda Sunday. A couple days later they met again and the preacher said: “Do you want me to keep on praying for Esmerelda?” The guy said: “No, never mind. Esmerelda came in Monday and paid 15 to 1.” TRIMMING THE TREE “Yes, children, Daddy’s going to put up the Christmas tree, now — it’s half the fun of Christmas . . . Yes, you can watch if you don’t monkey with anything . . . Now first of all, Daddy’s going to make a stand for the tree” . . . (Dots denote passing of ten minutes while he looks unsuccessfully for hammer, nails and boards) . . . “Well, children, it’s belter, anyway to fill a bucket with sand and set the tree in that — Yes, of course, Mamma, I’ll do it outside so it doesn’t get on the carpet . . . Hey, Junior, get away from that tree — sure it’s your Christmas tree, but leave it alone until we get it in place — LEAVE IT ALONE, I SAY! ... I know, I know, I’m not yelling at them — I’m just trying to tell them . . . O.K., now we’re going to have fun decorating the tree . . . Let’s see, where are the lights — only two strings of ’em? — Well, that’ll do, I guess — if they work . . . Where’s that exten¬ sion cord we use? . . . Huh? . . . What’s it doing up there? . . . We got to have it ... I don’t care if we can’t have a lamp in the bedroom then — we gotta have lights on the Christmas tree, don’t we? . . . We’re gonna attach the plug now, kids, and you can see all the pretty lights — if they light” . . . (They don’t) . . . “Well, one of them must have burned out — all I gotta do now is test 16 of ’em . . . Junior, you leave the lights alone — Daddy will do it ... I know you want to help, but you’ll break them . . . Who broke this one that won’t work now? — Well, I didn’t . . . Are you going to quit asking questions and fooling with things, dear, or do you want Daddy to slap your little ears off? . . . I’m not losing my temper with them — I’m just trying to keep them from tearing the tree down . . . Huh? . . . Well, if you can get along with them so much easier, why aren’t you trimming the tree? . . . You will, huh? . . . O.K., O.K., I’m going out for a while, and if I’m not back in an hour, look for me in some nice, quiet madhouse!” (Anonymous) •TWAS THE CHRIS BEFORE NIGHTMAS ’Twas the chris before Nightmas, when house through the all Not a stir was creatching mouse even a not; The chims were hung by the stockney with care In nicks that St. There would soon be hopeless When out on the rose there lawn such a matter I sprang from my clatt to see what was the batter Then appear to my whatering eyes should wonder But a sleighiture tindeer, and eight mina rain With a quick old liver so drively and little, I knew in a niekment it must be St. Mome. To the porch of the top, to the wall of the top As wild hurricanes that before the dry fly leaves When the ob with a meetstacle, sky to the mount, And there in a roofling I heard on the twink The poofing and hraneing of each little paw As I round in my turn and was heading adrew Down the hound came St. Chim with a nickimey. His drool littlebow was drawn up like a mouth The teeth of a stump held tight in his pipes And his head encircled his smoke like a wreath He had a belly face and a round little broad He was elfy and joll, a right plump chub He work not a spoke, but went straight to word And filled all the jerks and turned with a stocking And raising up the nodimey he gave a chim He whistled to his sleigh, to his team he gave a sprang And athistle they all dawn like away of a flew But I drone him as he exclaimed out of heard Crissy Hapness to all and to good an all night. (Author Unknown) Page 47 ■iv*'5!Svji' THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS ’Twas the night after Christmas and all through the home Raged a terrible headache wherever you’d roam; The house looked a wreck; there were signs everywhere To prove to the world that St. Nick had been there. The children were still having fun with their toys — And breaking all records for long-sustained noise, When out of the hall there arose such a clatter I opened the door to see what was the matter And what to my wondering eyes should appear But a man in distress and devoid of all cheer; He lay on the floor of the corridor narrow And out of the small of his back stuck an arrow . . . It had come from the bow of his own little lad 1 knew in a moment it must he poor dad! * * * I rushed for the phone and had just turned around When mother crashed into the room with a bound. Pursued by a child with rifle. Oh, well. It seems that, to please him, she played William Tell. The apple was okay but mother was not — There wasn’t a shadow of doubt she’d been shot; The kid was still shooting his air-gun — how merry! He yelled, “Play some more, ma! It’s funny, ma, very!” * * * Behind him came Willie, the boy from next door — He carried a sword and he yelled, “Let’s play war!” He rode on a broom, took a wild swing at me And carved quite a strip from the cap of my knee; Then out of his room tottered old Uncle Lew, His arm in a sling and one leg, I think, too; He’d helped little Oscar try out a new sled And had quite a gash on the top of his head; He’d also been playing with Ethelbert’s skis And murmured quite weakly, “The ambulance, please!” * * * Next grandpa came wallowing out of the hath — (I never had seen any man in such wrath) — He looked all awash; he was all dripping wet. His clothes were all soused; he was angry, you bet; It served him quite right, any man is a did) When he tries to sail children’s toy boats in the tub! * * * I stood there aghast when, no fooling, Aunt Nell Swooped through on a kiddy-car, going pell-mell; She upset the tree . . . there were sparks from a wire . . . I knew in an instant the house was on fire! * * * Then things all went black and when next I came to I was out on the lawn with a pulmotor crew; The house was still burning, the kids, little dears! Were dancing and shouting and giving three cheers; The fire chief stood and completed his work; He snickered a bit, then he turned with a jerk. And laying a finger aside of his nose, And, giving a nod, he said, “Roll up the hose!” He jumped in his car, sounded siren and whistle And away he then flew like the down from a thistle. * * * And I heard him explain to his smoke-eating boys, “Well, adults WILL play with the kids’ Christmas toys!” - — II. /. Phillips in the New York Sun December 26, 11)35 Bettp: Did you ever hear the story of the vacuum? Well, there's nothing in it. ONE MONTH AFTER CHRISTMAS ’Twas the month after Christmas, when all thru the house Not a creature was smiling, e’en dad, the old grouse. The store bills were stacked on dad’s roll-top with care, In hopes that collectors soon would be there. Poor old dad was nestled all snug in his bed, While visions of constables danced through his head. Mamma in her ’kerchief, and dad, the poor sap, Couldn’t pay for the gifts, let alone take a nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter; Dad sprung from his bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window he flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and counted the cash. When what to Dad’s wondering eyes should appear — But a big moving van and eight husky men near! With a little old driver so lively and quick; Dad knew in a minute it must be a trick. More rapid than eagles those cursers they came, And they whistled and shouted and called dad a name. “Now, dash you, now, darn you, we’ll teach you a lesson!” The way that they shouted had poor dad a-guessin’. They raced to the porch and right into the hall; Dashed away, dashed away, dashed away, all! As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky So into the parlor those cursers, they flew, And gathered up all gifts on which payment was due. A bundle of junk each had flung on his back, And each looked like a peddler just opening his pack. Their eyes, how they twinkled! Their dimples, how merry As each one in his turn gave dad the raspberry. Each had a broad face, and a little round belly That shook when each laughed like raspberry jelly. Dad, frightened and stumped — the right jolly old elf, I - Had to laugh as he watched them in spite of himself. No one spoke a word; each kept on with his work. And filled up the big van, then turned with a jerk — And wiggling their fingers in front of their noses, And giving a laugh, to the big van, each goeses. They all sprang aboard and poor dad gave a whistle As away they all flew like the down on a thistle. And they heard dad exclaim as they flew out of sight, “That’s a load off my mind!” and “It suits me all right.” — Alan F. Herdman, Branchville, N. .1. PAPPY'S RECIPE Listen, my children, and you will hear Of the ride of Santa and his eight reindeer, And wherever he would walk, he wouldn’t make noise. Even tho’ he suffered from a slight case of over dupoise. The children were nestled all snug in their beds While visions of Pappy’s recipes danced in their heads. Mamma in her long flannel gown and Pa in his cap, Oh, what a way to take a measly little old nap. Away to the window I flew like a flash, And in so doing, I left only the sash. Caused by the jolt of my brains, I do declare I spied the little man who wasn’t there. And he sat there feeding me his gopher stew Full of important ingredients like Vitimin P-U. He said, “You’ve been feeding this mess to everybody else Now you try a big part of it yourself.” I said, “No, not that! dear host — I’d rather face a graveyard with a big white ghost.” So forget about me and eat Mama’s turk And you’ll never have to worry about gastronomical burp! Page 49 585V BREAKFAST CLUB L DID YOU KNOW THAT: Walter Blaufuss once bet $5 on a horse that ran last, and then found out after the race that he could have bought the nag for a buck and a half? * * * No script is used on Breakfast Club, with the excep¬ tion of commercials or special war-time announcements. Now and then Bon refers to a fcwr notes and gags he has jotted down in his notebook, and outside of that, all that goes on is completely unrehearsed and made up on the spur of the moment? HARDY KOGEN When musicians see Harry Ivogen, the usual greeting is “Hi ya, Harrv — wrhat’s Ko- gcn ?” * * * Annette King has a hoy and a girl and maybe by the time you read this — that is an understatement? * * * Jack Baker really does weigh considerably less than the average full grown horse? * * * The Breakfast Club has received a special citation from the U. S. Treasury Department for its work in pro¬ moting the sale of U. S. War Stamps and Bonds? * * * Nancy Martin, the “Sweet¬ heart of the U.S. Male” who is always being kidded about chasing the men, actually has more dates offered her than she could possibly handle? * * * When Marion Mann reads a letter to her boy friend, Earl, she has a real, live Earl in mind — no kidding! * * * Nancy Bowls ’Em Over More than 75,000 persons now witness the morning broadcasts of Breakfast Club every year? * * * * * * The husbands of Evelyn Lynne and Betty Olson (for¬ merly of the Escorts and Betty), and Evelyn Morin (of the Morin Sisters) are in Uncle Sam’s Service? L Page 50 The gang you hear on Breakfast Club have so much fun that listeners have suggested that the performers pay the Blue Network instead of vice-versa? Brittle Creek, Grand Rapids and Lansing, Michigan; Erie, Pennsylvania; Nashville and Shelbyville, Tennessee; Hot Springs, Arkansas; Louisville, Kentucky; Hammond, In¬ diana; Shreveport, Louisiana; Fort Worth, Texas; St. Petersburg, Florida; Ottawa and Montreal, Canada; New Haven, Connecticut; Providence, Rhode Island; Pitts¬ burgh, Pennsylvania; Indianapolis, Indiana; and that the tremendous attendance at these performances is rapidly approaching the half million mark? “ — So that’s what they look like!” It still takes two alarm clocks, his wife, three kids, two dogs and a dash of cold water to get Don up. But as soon as he arrives in the studio — all is different. Break¬ fast Club has changed McNeill from an early morning grouch to a man who is at his best in these matutinal hours w^hen a smile means so much. He disclaims credit for the success of the show, saying, it’s the Breakfast The rumor that the Navy is taking over Don McNeill’s shoes to use as convoy ships, is totally unfounded? Joe Gallichio has the most beautiful head of skin in the radio business? In addition to its Chicago appearances, the Breakfast Club cast has appeared in such cities as Youngstown, Cleveland, Toledo and Dayton, Ohio; St. Paul, Minnea¬ polis and Duluth, Minnesota; Buffalo, New York City and Jamestown, New York; Kansas City, Springfield and St. Louis, Missouri; Des Moines, Iowra; Milwaukee, Janesville and Madison, Wisconsin; Fargo, North Dakota; Tulsa and Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; Wichita and Topeka, Kansas; Omaha, Nebraska; Birmingham, Alabama; Jackson, Flint, JOE GALIACHIO Big, ain’t it! Page 51 Vi ■ . 1 iK*S?SVi. Clubbers — over a million strong — those common, every¬ day Americans who go on and on with the program, who have made him what he is today — whatever that is? “They came — they saw — ” THE WHIRLPOOL He was caught in the whirl of the pool of dismay. By a thoughtless remark he had said; He had injured a friend in a nonchalant way, And the love they had cherished lay dead. To his mirror he went, in its glass to confide, And his face was both haggard and pale, And he asked of the glass, “Should 1 swallow the pride, That is pinning me down like a nail? Should I go to my friend with remorse on my face, A remorse that I honestly feel? Should I beg him this whir pool of shame to erase, In a soul-stirring voice of appeal?” “As your heart so dictates,” said a voice from the glass, “I advise you to follow its path, And remember ’twill pay you to keep off the grass, That is bordered with ill words and wrath.” There has only been one taxi ride taken lately be¬ tween Providence, Rhode Island, and New York City? Don: After the show will you join me in a bowl of soup? Pappy: Do you think there’ d be room for both of us? A conscientious effort has been made to give proper credit to the authors of the poems contained in this book. We wish to thank the many authors who gave us their kind permission to reprint their poems. If we have failed to list the authorship of any of these poems we beg forgiveness of the author, and would like to rectify the error in subsequent editions. So he went to his friend, and he asked most sincere, To he taken again to his heart And the whirlpool of friendship once more does endear These friends who had drifted apart. If there’s someone you know, whom you treated that way, And your heart is both heavy and blue, Seek and find him again without further delay, Don’t wait until he comes to you. You’ll find that the whirlpool of Love will replace, Every misunderstanding and strife. It will give you the courage to meet face to face. The changeable Whirlpool of Life. — Norman St. Croix, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada Page 52 I' ■iwVSlC WHAT THE GROOM WORE John Jones, son of Mr. and Mrs. Sam Jones, of Pleasant Villa, became the bridegroom of Miss Elizabeth Smith at high noon today. The ceremony took place at the home of the groom’s parents. Mr. Jones was attended by Mr. Brown as groomsman. The groom was the cynosure of all eyes. Blushing prettily he replied to the questions of the clergyman in low tones, but firm. He was charming¬ ly clad in a three-piece suit, consisting of coat, vest and trousers. The coat of dark material was draped about his shoulders and tastefully gathered under the arms. The pretty story was current among the wedding guests that the coat was the same worn by his father and grand¬ father on their wedding days. The vest was sleeveless and met in front. It was gracefully fashioned with pockets and the back held together with a strap and buckle. Conspicuous on the front of the vest was the, groom’s favorite piece of jewelry, a fraternity pin, and from the upper left hand corner of his vest hung a long watch chain, the bride’s gift to the groom, which flashed brilliantly and gave the needed touch to a costume in perfect taste and harmony. The groom’s coat was of dark worsted and fell from the waist in a straight line almost to the floor. The severe simplicity of the garment was relieved by the right pantalette, which was caught up about four inches by a garter worn underneath, revealing just the artistic glimpse of brown socks above the genuine leather shoes, laced with strings of the same color. The effect was chic. Beneath the vest the groom wore blue galluses, attached fore and aft to the trousers and passing in a graceful curve over each shoulder. This pretty and useful part of the costume would have passed unnoticed had not the groom muffed the ring when the groomsman ■l passed it to him. When he stooped to recover the errant circlet, the blue of his galluses was prettily revealed. His neck was encircled with a collar, characterized by a delicate pearl tint of old-fashioned celluloid, and around the collar was a cravat, loosely knitted, exposing a collor button of bright metal. The cravat extended up and down under the left ear with the studied carelessness which marks supreme artistry in dress. Mr. Brown’s costume was essentially like the groom’s and as the two stood at the altar a hush of admiration enveloped the audience at the complete harmony. Actually, one could hardly have told one from the other, had it not been for a patch of court plaster worn by the groom over the nick in his chin made by a safety razor. Neither Mr. Jones nor Mr. Brown wore a hat at the cere¬ mony. As Miss Elizabeth Smith led the groom from the altar, it was noted that she wore the conventional veil and orange blossoms. THE END OF THE ROPE When you’ve lost every vestige of hope And you think you are beaten and done, When you’ve come to the end of your rope, Tie a knot in the end and hang on. Have courage; for here is the dope: When you stand with your back to the wall, Though you’ve come to the end of your rope Tie a knot in the end and hang on. Don’t admit that life’s getting your goat When your friends seem to all disappear, When you’ve come to the end of your rope, Tie a knot in the end and hang on. — Margaret Nickerson Martin, Jackson, Mich. Page 53 ••wcfh\ 585V - ? THE NURSE The world grows better every year Because some nurse in her little sphere Puts on her apron and smiles and sings And keeps on doing the same old things; Taking the temperature, giving the pills To remedy mankind’s numerous ills; Feeding the baby, answering the bells. Being polite with a heart that rebels. Longing for home and all the while Wearing the same professional smile; Blessing the new-born baby’s first breath Closing the eyes that are stilled in death; Going off duty at seven o’clock Tired, discouraged, and ready to drop. But called back on special at seven-fifteen With woe in her heart that must not be seen; Morning and evening, and noon and night, Just doing it over and hoping it’s right. When we lay down our caps, and cross the bar 0 Lord, will You give us just one little star To wear in our crowns, with our uniforms new In that city above where the Head Nurse is You? (Author Unknown) DAY BY DAY The great Italian sculptor and painter, Michaelangelo, was essentially a sculptor and painted only under protest. He was also a poet and expressed this idea in a sonnet in which he said that in every block of marble he saw an imprisoned idea awaiting the sculptor’s art to be freed. When Michaelangelo wrote that he probably meant just what the mere words imply and no more. Undoubtedly he was thinking of art and not a general philosophy. sr 2tl - Page 54 ^A);cy. - ? But think of those words — you and I are sculptors in a sense, aren’t we? Not great artists like Michaelangelo — no — but our fate is in our hands — our life is what we make it. We are the moulders of our destiny. In every block of marble he saw an imprisoned idea awaiting the sculptor’s art to be freed. Every day is like that — an¬ other page in our book of life. We can leave it blank, or we can fill it with something worthwhile. As long as we are creatures of free will and as long as the book of our lives, after all, means more to us than anyone else, why not consider each day as a milestone, a slab of marble, and let’s do something worthwhile with it. Each day can he a beautiful tiling, if we make it so. ■ — Don McNeill THE TOWN OF DON’T YOU WORRY There’s a town called Don’t you worry On the banks of River Smile, Where the Cheer-up and Be-happy Blossom sweetly all the while; Where the Never-grumble flower Blooms beside the fragrant Try, And the Ne’er-give-up and Patience Point their faces to the sky. Rustic benches quite enticing You’ll find scattered here and there; And to each a vine is clinging Called the Frequent-earnest prayer. Everybody there is happy And is singing all the while. In the town of Don’t you worry On the banks of River Smile. (Author Unknown) y 4 - £fSV" ? TELL HIM NOW If with pleasure you are viewing any work a man is doing, If you like him or you love him, tell him now; Don’t withhold your approbation ’til the person makes oration As he lies with snowy lilies o’er his brow; For no matter how you shout it, he won’t really care about it; He won’t know how many tear drops you have shed; If you think some praise is due him, now’s the time to slip it to him, For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead! If she wants chocolates — Feeder If she sings inharmoniously — Tuner If she is out of town — Telegrapher If she is a poor cook — Discharger If she is too fat — Reducer If she is wrong — Rectifier If she gossips too much — Regulator If she becomes upset — Reverser If she wants a new dress — Juss watt her. (Anonymous) CYCLE OF A JOKE More than fame and more than money is the comment kind and sunny, And the hearty warm approval of a friend; For it gives to life a savor, and it makes you stronger, braver, And it gives you heart and spirit to the end; If he earns your praise, bestow it; if you like him, let him know it; Let the words of true encouragement be said; Do not wait till life is over and he’s underneath the clover, For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead! Birth: A freshman thinks it up and laughs aloud, waking up two fraternity men in back row. Age — Five minutes: Freshman tells it to a senior, who answers: “It’s funny, but I’ve heard it before.” Age — One day: Senior turns it in to college magazine as his own. Age — Two days: Editor thinks it’s terrible. Age — Ten days: Editor has to fill magazine so joke is printed. (Anonymous) Age — One month : Thirteen college comics reprint it. Age — Three years : Magazine reprints the joke in “Light¬ er Vein.” HANDLING WOMEN ELECTRICALLY If she talks too long — Interrupter If she wants to be an angel — Transformer If she is picking your pockets — Detector If she will receive you half way — Receiver If she gets too excited — Controller If she goes up in the air — Condenser Age — Ten years: Seventy-six radio comedians discover it simultaneously, tell it accompanied by howls of mirth from the boys in the orchestra. ($5 a howl.) Age — One hundred years: Professor starts telling it in class. Age — One hundred one years: It’s reprinted again, then used on the Breakfast Club. Page 55 LITTLE COUNTRY TOWN I love a little country town; I love its flowers and trees; 1 love its quiet peacefulness; Its birds; its humming bees. 1 love its kindly womenfolk; I love its girls and boys; Its sturdy men, who understand My sorrows and my joys. I love its blue sky overhead; Its air that’s clean and sweet. I love the laughter and the tramp Of small town children’s feet. In little country towns I find The will to do and dare: I love a little country town Because I found God there! — Joyce Allen, Binghamton, N. Y. A BETTER WORLD Wouldn’t this old world he better, If the folks we meet would say, “I know something good about you,” And then treat us just that way? Wouldn’t it he fine and dandy, If each handclasp was warm and true, Carried with it this assurance, “I know something good about you?” Wouldn’t life he lots more happy If the good that’s in us all Were the only thing about us, That folks bothered to recall? ivf’Stevwi. - - 9 Wouldn’t life be lots more happy If we praised the good we see? For there’s such a lot of goodness s In the worst of you and me. Wouldn’t it be nice to practice That fine way of thinking, too? You know something good about me, ; And I know something good about you. ( Author Unknown) PRAYER Give me a good digestion, Lord, and also something to digest. Give me a healthy body, Lord, with sense to keep it at its best. Give me a healthy mind, Lord, to keep the good and pure in sight. Which, seeing sin, is not appalled, but finds a way to set it right. Give me a mind that is not bored, that does not whimper, whine or sigh, Don’t let me worry overmuch about a fussy thing called I. Give me a sense of humor, Lord, give me the grace to see a joke. To get some happiness from life and pass it on to other folk. (This poem was left by an unknown worshipper in Chester Cathedral, England) 9 WHERE? A FUNNY THING “Tell me, gray-haired sexton,” I said, “Where in this field are wicked folks laid? I have wandered the quiet old churchyard through, And studied the epitaphs, old and new: But on monument, obelisk, pillar or stone 1 read of no evil that men have done.” The old sexton stood by a grave newly made, With a hand on his chin, and a hand on his spade; I knew by the gleam of his eloquent eye His heart was instructing his lips to reply. “Who is to judge when the soul takes its flight? Who is to judge ’twixt the wrong and the right? Which of us mortals shall dare to say. That our neighbor was wicked who died today? “In our journey through life, the farther we speed The better we learn that humanity’s need Is Charity’s spirit, that prompts us to find Rather virtue than vice in the lives of our kind. “Therefore, good deeds we record on these stones: The evil men do, let it lie with their bones. I have labored as sexton this many a year, But I never have buried a bad man here.” (Anonymous) Nancy : Why laugh at hats the women wear — al¬ though they may amuse. — I think by far much funnier are the husbands women choose. Jack’s laugh is so contagious it has been suggested he be given a laugh-time contract. £ It is a funny thing, but true, That folks you don’t like, don’t like you; I don’t know why this should he so, But just the same I always know If I am “sour,” friends are few; If I am friendly, folks are, too. Sometimes I get up in the morn A-wishin’ I was never horn; I make of cross remarks a few, And then my family wishes, too, That I had gone some other place Instead of showing them my face. But let me change my little “tune,” And sing and smile, then pretty soon The folks around me sing and smile; I guess ’twas catching all the while. Yes, ’tis a funny thing, but true, The folks you like will sure like you. (Anonymous) TYPICAL BREAKFAST CLUB PLAY Scene — .4 Davenport somewhere in Iowa lie: Gee. She: Golly. He: Oh, honey. She: Yes, sweet. He: Will you love me when l grow fat ? She: No. He: You won't? She: No, I promised for better or worse. Not through thick and thin. Page 57 How to Be a Master of Ceremonies By DON McNEILL Master of Ceremonies is a kind name often given to irresponsible persons who adapt this career on stage, screen or radio in preference to working. Synonyms : Slap-happy, Clambake boss, Member So¬ ciety for Perpetuation of Ancient Jokes, Unclassified Member of AFRA. Example: Radio program may have girl singer following musical selection by orchestra. Master of Ceremonies is a person who might say, “And now Rosy Cheek will sing Rlue Orchids dedicated to Papa Dionne who would probably faint if he had some or¬ chids.’’ (some more-kids.) Remedy: Teaspoon of mus¬ tard and sodium bicarbonate in water, or twist of dial. A Master of Ceremonies, like an empty bottle, is usually found just outside of a radio executive’s office. Note: An empty bottle may be difficult to distinguish from an executive. (Roth have their necks out.) Any male citizen who has not stayed in the fourth grade over three years is eligible to become a Master of Ceremonies. To prepare yourself to be an M.C. it is well to go to college and study law and journalism as I did, because I found no jobs to be had in either of these professions, and drifting into radio seemed much cuter than starving. There are very few jobs to be had in radio, but I found that being an announcer, writing a radio column, doing a radio engineering stint on the side, keeping the boss in dates, and sweeping out the studio, I was easily able to earn $13.40 a week in no time. Inside of two years I had worked myself up to $15 a week, was handling my own programs, paying for a car, and the boss was getting his own dates. Soon I was working on another radio station. I de¬ cided to make the change . . . immediately after being M Page 58