![]() ![]() Listening to disc transcriptions of Bing’s early Kraft shows, one is startled by the rapid intros and outros surrounding musical numbers, the absence of any kind of mitigating response, the consequent fast pace and easy, nothing-special ambience. Had he been able to persuade his sponsor, he would have had no audience at all. Bing particularly disliked what he called “organized applause” at the start of the show, before he had done anything - or so he argued - to merit it. Above all, Oakie ignored a unique component of the show: applause was always forbidden, by directive of Crosby himself, who found it disruptive and contrived. 5īut Oakie’s nuanced telling gives the game away, underscoring the absurdity of the tale: Victor Borge didn’t relocate from Denmark to the United States until years later, and he joined the Crosby show as a regular cast member, not as an audience warmer Bing’s musical guests were invariably involved in patter with the star Kraft Music Hall, like all network programs, was a minutely timed operation, and radio did not permit the luxury of “silent moments” (Bing would be on the mike in an instant), especially when time was short. The pianist on that occasion was Alexander Brailowski Oakie was rebuked by the director for “discourteous” mugging during his spot. ![]() Oakie himself appeared only once before Gabrilowitsch’s death. Though something like that may have - or certainly should have - happened during radio’s golden age, Oakie’s story is as much a fabrication as his idol’s “Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” Ossip Gabrilowitsch never appeared on Bing’s show. So thunderstruck was the musician, he left the building without his cheese basket, the sponsor’s much coveted gift to each guest. This is classic show-business apocrypha: the setup, the details, the specific names, the vivid movielike finish. “Bing,” Oakie asked, “did you tell him about the no-applause business tonight? ‘Oh, my God!’ was all Bing could say.’Oh, my God!’” 4 Afterward, Bing wanted to know what was troubling the maestro. Finally, he bestirred himself and, as if in a trance, walked off the stage and out of the building. “Those silent moments, which must have seemed an eternity to him, must have been one of the greatest shocks of his life,” Oakie observed. When Bing introduced him, Gabrilowitsch marched to the piano and, in Oakie’s telling, “gave one of the greatest performances of his career! He played the last notes, lifted his hands, and held them above the ivories in a dramatic pause.” The audience was quiet as a tomb. Oakie watched him doff his large-brimmed fedora and cape and pace silently, awaiting his turn. The program was in progress when the pianist arrived, an entrance recalled in loving detail by Oakie, who was fascinated because Gabrilowitsch was married to Clara Clemens, the daughter of his idol, Mark Twain. There must be no applause, especially for Gabrilowitsch: “Now listen, we know he’s going to murder ‘em, and if they get started applauding for him, he’ll louse up our time.” 3 Bing made the announcement. Shortly before airtime, as Oakie told it, while humorist Victor Borge was warming up the studio audience, director Cal Kuhl realized that the show was running long and anxiously asked Bing to instruct spectators not to applaud. Jack Oakie, a popular guest in the early days of Bing’s tenure on Kraft Music Hall, liked to recount a cherished story about an appearance by Detroit Symphony Orchestra conductor Ossip Gabrilowitsch, who was also a concert pianist. There was so much fun and frolicking by cast it probably was not so enjoyable over the air. Bob Burns had one very long story that took too long for the laughs. Two unpredictable bad spots - (1) Bing muffled a top note. ![]()
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