Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1931-01-11
ssGrahann

All the tough breaks these days are
going to the detectives of fiction. Every
time they turn around fate seems to
delight In taking a sock at them, de-
termined, perhaps, to prove that those
who are experts in detecting" on paper
aren't so good when it comes to actual
practice.
Take Arthur B. Reeve, for instance
His Craig Kennedy, the scientific de-
tective, could solve any odd crime that
came along, and Reeve is now the
guiding genius of the Crime Prevention
program. But a couple of weeks ago
somebody stole Reeves typewriter from
the office where he hides away to do
his work and he hasn't yet been able
to get it back. He has been able to
figure out how it was stolen, but the
identity of the thief-and whether he
was tall man with scar on his left
| cheek or stumpy blonde-remains
mystery.
And now Snoop and Peep-Charlie
Finan and Paul Winkopp in real life
have been having their troubles, too
Even being burlesque detectives doesn't
help much. The other day they were
about to go into rehearsal. Both of
them had their scripts with them when
placed sided by side on a piano. They
left the scripts there for few minutes
while they talked to the production men
and the engineer.
When they were ready to begin, both
scripts had disappeared There wasn't
trace Of them, and so far as the boys
had noticed, not another person had
entered the studio. They practically
tore that piano apart, and although
1 CIICNPrf1nO q 40
staff men closely, there wasn't a sus-
picious bulge over any of their pockets
However, they had with them a single
copy Of the script for another show,
and it was that which went into re-
hearSal.
Now snoop and Peep are having
trouble about hats. When they put
finding them. Only two out Of four
have been recovered, and the average
is so low folks around the studios insist
it bears out the old tradition.
Special traffic rules for announcers
are being advocated by Kelvin Keech
after an experience of his during the
holidays. He had arrived at the Penn
sylvania Station little more than an
hour before he was scheduled to go on
the air. Since the trip from Thirty
fourth street and Seventh avenue to
the studios at Fifty-ffth street and
Fifth avenue doesn't usually take very
long, Keech boarded a bus.
Forty minutes later the bus had
reached Thirty-fifth street and Fifth
avenue. Keech, little worried, looked
at his watch, jumped from the bus and
caught a taxi
Forty-sixth street and Fifth avenue,
I fonF IN
the last five minutes. With IL or ID
minutes TO go, and with two or three
little details TO attend TO before he went
| on the air, Keech dismissed the cab
and sprinted up the street. Being
small, he had fair luck lodging In and
out among the crowds of shoppers He
made it all right, but he's been walking
everywhere lately.
Folks on the air have to take all
kinds of precautions to make sure
they'll be able to get to the studios on
time. Some of them even start SO
early that they'd practically be able to
make 1t on foot If all other means of
transportation should fail.
A good many Of those who have TO
be on the air in the morning use three
and four alarm clocks, just for safety's
sake, and practically everybody has two
or three clocks In every room at home.
! Some Of the musicians, with close
schedules to make every night, always
carry two watches, and then they
check with every clock they see.
The general rule among the radio
| folk who commute Is to take the next
train before the one they really have to
.catch in order to get TO the studios on
time. That reminds me of the time an
open drawbridge held up the train q
well known radio tenor was using to
get to the studios. He tried to swim
the Harlem River. just to get in on
time, but he landed in the police sta
ton; a cop thought he was trying TO
commit suicide and probably needed
watching And as you might have
guessed, he'd have kept his engagement