Jack Benny
The 14th of February not only marks Valentine, the day for all romantics, but also the birthday of one of the comedy greats of old-time-radio, Jack Benny. In honor of this special day we are pleased to share this article on RUSC, which was written by an old friend of RUSC, Phil Castora. Enjoy!
Benny, born Benjamin Kubelsky, began his career as a violinist, but got into comedy when people seemed more appreciative of the humorous remarks he would occasionally make while on stage than of his excellent playing.
Except for the relatively few situation comedies, radio comedy programs were all; at least nominally, variety shows, and many were referred to as such, including all the ones that ran a full hour. Jack Benny’s show, typical in this respect of the half hour programs, always had two musical numbers, one vocal and one instrumental but, as with the others, giving progressively less importance to these (well-done!) breaks in the comedy.
As one might expect of a show that was so often at the top of the audience ratings, it was a bit different from the others.
For example, on no other show was the star portrayed as quite so absurdly distant from perfection. Benny was no egomaniac, he allowed himself to be heard as a vain, egotistical, and absurdly miserly fool; but he did want to be proud of his show, and if that meant allowing all the punch lines to go to supporting players then that was what was done.
In fact, long before the show ended its run of almost a quarter-century, it could boast probably the finest accumulation of talent of any regularly scheduled program.
From the earliest days, the cast included Benny’s talented wife Sadie Marks Benny as a friend named Mary Livingston, and Eddie Anderson as his black manservant Rochester, whose full name Rochester Van Jones was seldom heard.
Rochester was, largely, an example of the black stereotype of the time and today would be at the very least, a severe embarrassment to everyone connected to the program. But, in the 1930s when the character was created, Rochester’s failure to act inferior to his boss, his occasional correcting of him, and once in a while getting the better of him, was one of those early small steps toward equality that are essential to enable the later and bigger ones to be taken.
Benny was also the first to involve the announcer, in this case Don Wilson, in the comedy, giving him at least a couple of lines each week, sometimes quite a few.
When he found his orchestra leader Phil Harris could do comedy, he made him a regular also and Harris would thereafter be second banana in nearly all the comedy skits that sometimes constituted the second half of the shows.
Even the singers got written into the comedy beginning some time before Dennis Day was hired in 1939 and Day, a very talented actor, was occasionally featured in the skits, especially if any sort of regional dialect was appropriate.
And yes, the recurring players were also great talents, including Elvia Allman, Bea Benadaret, Mel Blanc (who began doing only the growl of a bear, and later, along with speaking parts of all kinds, would occasionally be the sound effect of Benny’s 1920 Maxwell car trying to start), Verna Felton as Dennis Day’s mother, who couldn’t stand Benny, Joe Kearns all too briefly, Frank Nelson (“Yeeeeeeees?”), Sheldon Leonard as a race track tout (Benny was never at the track, so Leonard would have to improvise with whatever Benny was about to do), and Artie Auerbach as Mr. Kitzel, whom Benny rescued after the show Auerbach had been on earlier died a well-deserved death.
Of course even the most talented performers need good scripts, and Benny did a fine job choosing writers. Sometimes they’d work a gag to death over a period of up to four weeks, then dump it. But there were many running gags that they’d use only about twice a season, and even the dumbest ones became funnier at this infrequency, and were used for years. Probably the best known is Blanc’s announcing a “train leaving on Track Five for Anaheim, Azusa, and Cucamonga!”
The first show it was used on, Blanc did it three times, adding plaintively to the third, “Aw, come on, folks — doesn’t anyone want to go to Anaheim, Azusa, or Cucamonga??” After that time, he’d pause after the first syllable of “Cucamonga”, only an instant to begin with, very gradually increasing to a very noticeable full second until Benny’s final season, when about twenty minutes and most of the rest of the show had elapsed. But they knew that listeners would have gotten fed up quickly with the repetition of anything so simple, if it had been used much more often than twice a year.
Another humorous feature was the use of odd names. When possible, real ones were used, as in the train announcement, and occasionally, Pismo Beach, hundreds of miles north of the Los Angeles studios where most of the shows originated. But even more absurd fictional names were given to characters heard or discussed, always very infrequently, like Benny’s supposed girl friend Gladys Zybysko who was rarely heard and not often mentioned, or the telephone operators at the studio, Gertrude Gearshift and Mable Flapsaddle.
One of the less unlikely names became famous decades later when it was taken as the professional name by another comedian. In 1940, Benny was effusively praising a typical cheap western film to Mary Livingston, and mentioned the supposedly great actor starring in it, “Rodney Dangerfield” — but the fictional film actor got Benny’s respect, at least, if not Mary’s.
One of Benny’s best-known gags came about almost by accident. When he was in his fifties, one script called for a magazine reporter to interview him, asking questions about various things, including his age. Benny insisted he was thirty-six. This was made even funnier by the reporter’s incredulous response, but Benny remained adamant. The following year, the writers had the reporter interview Benny again - “Thirty-seven.” Then thirty-eight. Then thirty-nine. The fifth year, the writers would have had him give his age as forty, but Benny objected. “Hey, fellows, ‘forty’ isn’t funny!” So for the rest of his career, Benny was thirty-nine.
In 1974, when Benny died, the Los Angeles Times made his obituary the headlined item on the first page: JACK BENNY DEAD AT 80. The article gave many details of his life, including his career and some of his philanthropies then ended in standard obituary style: He was thirty-nine.
By working for the best comedy possible, rather than using the show as a vehicle primarily for his own very considerable talents, Jack Benny was responsible for the most popular show on radio. Oh, and yes, he really was an excellent violinist rather then the total incompetent he pretended to be.
Happy listening my friends,
P.S. If you're looking for all things Valentine's related, check out this link for our last editorial ❤️️