HONORING FRANK BRESEE AND AMERICAN RADIO HISTORY

On May 19, 2013 I was fortunate to be among the attendees honoring Frank Bresee and his wonderful wife Bobbie on the occasion of the generous donation of his vast personal collection of radio memorabilia to the American Radio Archives housed at the Thousand Oaks Library in Thousand Oaks, California. It is the same location that houses the collection of Norman Corwin as well as those of Rudy Vallee, Red Skelton, Carlton E. Morse, radio station KNX, and the Pacific Pioneers Broadcasters, to name only a handful.

The Thousand Oaks Grant R. Brimhall Library was decked out radio treasures from the collection such as microphones from CBS, NBC and ABC, a vintage 1930s Philco Radio, transcription discs, posters and the metal contraption known as “Radio’s Oscar.” Ah, yes, Radio’s Oscar! I will speak more of that later…

First, it’s important to explain just who Frank Bresee is and why he is especially important to me.

When I was around ten years old my mother introduced me to the world of Old Time Radio with LP records and cassettes of some classic radio shows such as Jack Benny, Abbott & Costello, Lights Out, and The Shadow. I was hooked!

One year for my birthday I got a cassette called The Golden Days of Radio. It was hosted by Frank Bresee, and this episode featured highlights from radio comedy shows. For the first time ever, I heard Amos ‘n Andy, Lum ‘n Abner, The Easy Aces, Baby Snooks, Lucille Ball in My Favorite Husband, and much more. I wore the tape out! Later I discovered that Frank had hosted this radio series since the 1950s—including a phenomenal 29-year run over Armed Forces Radio (1967-1996). In fact, the show still airs over YesterdayUSA.com, a streaming Internet-based radio station. 

You see, Frank’s voice had introduced me these radio comedies and fueled my interest in this mostly-forgotten epoch in entertainment. So, many years later, when I got to meet him in person, I was a bit star-struck. That’s unusual for me, actually. It must have been a deeply buried feeling of gratitude that welled up in me when I met him. He is the nicest of men and thoroughly a class act. On the occasions I have interacted with his beautiful wife Bobbie Bresee, I am charmed beyond measure.

Now about “Radio’s Oscar.” A few years ago I was visiting Frank at his Hancock Park home in Los Angeles and got a tour of his studio used for interviewing many of the legends of the Golden Age of Radio, the home theater his the basement where he and Monty Hall created “Let’s Make A Deal,” and the famous blackboard with signatures of many Hollywood luminaries who had visited and hung out, among them: Elvis Presley and Natalie Wood. But what I most remember about that visit was something I saw at the foot of the stairs leading to the basement. It was a strange metal device with a curved bar across the top. It was called, Frank explained to me with a gleam in his eye, “Radio’s Oscar.” It was created especially for Cecil B. DeMille to use on the “Lux Radio Theater,” broadcast every week from what is now the Ricardo Montalban Theater in Hollywood.

The strange apparatus was placed directly underneath the hanging microphone poised to instantly transmit the actor’s voices nationwide as they guest starred on this high-rated series. The stars of these weekly adaptations of movie scripts were, naturally, movie stars. Some of them were terribly nervous about radio’s live quality and zero chance to redo a line or a scene. Additionally, the theater was packed with a live audience! The pressure caused actors and actresses to wander off-mike (too far away from the microphone) or worse, move in too close! So DeMille, the story goes, had this metal stand built and placed directly under the microphone thus keeping the actors at the proper distance from the microphone and give them something to hold on to! Bette Davis was known to grip the curved handle while giving a performance. Frank showed me a photo of Cary Grant at its side during a Lux rehearsal. Frank Bresee rescued this treasure of broadcasting history when he discovered that no one remembered or knew what it was used for and, during a period when a lot of history was trashed in Hollywood, it was relegated to the trash—literally in the studio dumpster. A tipoff to Frank and he saved the day! 

Flash forward to May 19, 2013: I was able to get my photo standing with Radio’s Oscar and gripping the same bar that helped Bette Davis get through her broadcast.

All thanks to Frank Bresee.

I’m just saying…