THE CULTURAL HISTORY OF RADIO HORRORS
by
Martin Grams, Jr.
Paradoxically,
there is one realm where crime does pay. That is in radio.
Throughout the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s, dozens of radio actors
committed crimes almost every day of the week—and made a
living from it. But, through the blackmail, torture, murder,
stealing and burning, they were always within the law.
This
went on for about 20 years, long before the blood-curdling Shadow
broadcasts started the transmission-borne cops-and-robbers
cycle with shocking mad scientists and diabolical geniuses.
Neither criminal nor crime-cracker, Raymond Edward Johnson
played host on Inner
Sanctum Mystery, and it was his business to scare the
daylights out of listeners with such interlocutory tidbits as,
“Can you stand another knifing?” or, “Did that make your
blood curdle?” Scaring paid well, too.
Where
the Inner Sanctum
movies borrowed from the radio program, other radio
crime-mystery programs such as The
Adventures of the Thin Man borrowed from the movies, as was
the case with the William Powell-Myrna Loy M-G-M series.
Demonstrating that there was almost an unlimited scope for crime
on the air, that Dashiell Hammett creation enjoyed almost
instant popularity. The
Thin Man broadcasts, like others, were strewn with
make-believe lawbreakers working at AFRA rates, or higher. The
National Broadcasting Company did censor their programs. In part
of one season, The Thin
Man dramas were forbidden to feature any dead bodies until
the air-time got moved ahead, to keep the young kiddies from
being exposed to the dramatics of murder and death.
The
“take” for 12 leading network mystery programs amounted to a
juicy $400,000 weekly. And the crime profiteers included
writers, actors, musicians and directors by the dozen. I Love a Mystery, for example, during the year of 1942, cost $2,400
weekly (and that’s just two 15-minute broadcasts!).
It
wasn’t very long after Inner Sanctum Mystery was introduced that other psychological
thrillers began popping up via the airwaves. Examples include
the launch of Dark Venture
over the ABC network in February 1946. It arrived with
little advance publicity, was an overnight success and,
according to one critic, had “little trouble in taking its
place with the top crime sagas” (New
York Times, February 1946). The first episode, “Boiling
Point,” was a thriller by Larry Marcus. It told of Mr. Pitts,
a timid little English clerk, who for years had been forced to
crawl under packing cases in the warehouse to afford amusement
for his boss. Finally, Mr. Pitts rebelled at the humiliation.
Training a gun on his boss, he forced his superior to crawl
under the cases. When the boss was merely injured by falling
cases, Mr. Pitts drove him around the countryside until life
drained from his body.
Critics
were concerned about the influence such programs might have on
the younger members of the audience. In April 1946 Judge Jacob
Panken of the New York City Children’s Court wrote a short
essay about his observations:
“Radio
has become a factor of and a part of the environment in which we
live. Children will listen to programs that are good, and are
healthy. Programs interestingly depicting anti-social conduct,
crime, murder influence children to anti-social attitudes and
lead to aggression. I don’t want to theorize, I want you to
share some of my experiences. A boy, 15, was in court for the
fifth time. This time because he stole an automobile. Other
offenses were burglary, hold-up [sic] and use of a home-made gun
to force another child to give up a few pennies he had. I asked
the boy, ‘What kind of programs do you listen to?’ His
answer was ‘Gangbusters,
Ellery Queen, Inner Sanctum,
The Lone Ranger, Bulldog Drummond, The Shadow.’
“Not
all children are influenced by such programs. But no child
escapes a trauma. They disturb and excite and the result is
maladjustment. Psychiatrists and psychologists know the
frightful effect that excitement, emotional disturbance and
maladjustments have upon the psychologic state of the mind of
children.
“Every
program ends with crime does not pay, but by the time the child
reaches that point, the excitement, the emotional upset is so
overpowering that the gratuitous statement that crime does not
pay is not heard and if it is heard, it does not register.”
So
a code of ethics was established to help “curb” the
situation regarding influential crime dramas. One of the
earliest attempts began in the spring 1939, when the National
Association of Broadcasters, which represented about 400 radio
stations throughout the country, started work on a code for its
members. The purpose was twofold: primarily, to set up uniform
rules of self-regulation for broadcasters in program policies;
secondarily, to jump the gun on the Federal Communications
Commission by establishing a form of voluntary censorship within
the industry. Although the FCC had no actual authority to censor
radio, its power to withhold licenses (without which no radio
station could broadcast) was a Damoclean sword that had given
numerous broadcasters the jitters. *
*
The N.A.B. was formed April 25, 1923, and is, thus, even older
than the major networks: NBC (established November 1, 1926) and
CBS (established September 18, 1927).
Himan
Brown, director of Inner Sanctum Mystery, was not immune to the type of censorship
established on radio programs, especially when it came to
Brown’s methods of killing people. “The problem,” Brown
told author Jim Harmon, “was not to reveal actual murder
methods with such clarity and definition as to give the listener
a good idea of how to erase someone he could do without, or even
a half-complete knowledge of a known and effective method of
killing with only a small chance of being caught.”
Still,
in July 1939, with its voluntary code completed and ready to be
voted on, the N.A.B. met at the Ambassador Hotel in Atlantic
City for its 17th annual convention. Prior to balloting, two
things happened. First, as a protest against the stringency of
the code, a number of delegates walked out of the meeting.
Second, Stephen Early, secretary to President Roosevelt, assured
N.A.B. members that, in his opinion, the talk of government
censorship was a “boogieman [sic].”
He
added, “So long as radio serves democracy, it will remain
free.” Nevertheless, a sufficient number of N.A.B.
members—172—held to the view that balloting on
self-censorship was clearly desirable. By 148 to 24 they held to
the further view that the code should be adopted.
So
on July 11 was set up a group of regulations that would affect
programs in a variety of ways as soon as two details were
settled: machinery to enforce the N.A.B. code and the date on
which it was to go into operation. On July 12, moreover, N.A.B.
members unanimously adopted a code of standards under which
advertisements of no fewer than 13 types of products and
services were to be banned from the airwaves. Prohibited were
ads for hard liquors, medical cure-alls, fortune-telling
(handwriting analysis, numerology, astrology etc.), racetrack
tips, matrimonial ads and “dope” on financial speculations.
In
the field of programs proper, as distinguished from advertised
products and services, the N.A.B. code covered five broad
departments, one of which was Children’s Programs, which
“must not contain sequences involving horror or torture … or
any other matter which might reasonably be regarded as likely to
over-stimulate the child listener.”
Speaking
of horror … U.S. radio, which, to the despair of many parents,
churches and civic groups, fired at least 80 programs of horror
and bloodcurdling adventure at its listeners every week, really
massed its guns on Sunday. According to the November 6, 1950
issue of Life Magazine,
into five hours of that evening, three networks packed nine
mystery shows. As time went on, censorship became more lenient.
For example, Inner Sanctum had just celebrated its seventh full year on the air. The
Shadow fairly growled with menace, as a mad doctor killed a
woman, hid her corpse in a closet and then prepared to operate
on a girl just for the fun of it. (The protagonist ran upstairs,
tossed a man out a window and later decided to jump himself.) In
True Detective, an
“offended elephant” that had been fed plug tobacco got
revenge by putting the finger (or trunk) on its tormentor, a
woman-slayer. In House of
Mystery, a “haunted violin” killed a gypsy. Later, a cat
sniffed the bow and died, revealing that the bow’s resin
emitted a poison gas. In Sherlock
Holmes, a dog howled for its dead mistress, as the woman’s
brother concealed her body; the solution involved a grisly
exchange of corpses. In Sam
Spade, a society reporter was pushed out a window. In Nick Carter, the infallible Carter captured a woman fence who had
slain a policeman. The Man
Called X traced a band of gun thieves to Nigeria; the
natives blew them up by firing flaming arrows into their
grenades. Total carnage for the night: at least a dozen violent
deaths, with victims being stabbed, poisoned, shot, blown up and
thrown out of windows, plus one exceptionally messy suicide.
This
wasn’t much of a change since 1943 when Bulldog
Drummond, The Shadow, Murder Clinic,
The Green Hornet, Crime
Doctor and Inner Sanctum were just six of the mysteries heard over a four-hour
time-slot on Sunday evening.
In spite of a code of ethics, some shows still managed to
get in a stomachful of horror. The
Shadow featured an episode in which two grave robbers
employed such useful instruments as a vise and blowtorch to
mutilate and kill their partner. But even during the late 1940s,
radio set limits to the kinds of murder that could be committed,
a fact that might have surprised listeners, if they’d even
knew about it. A year earlier, in 1947, the N.A.B. had revised
its code of ethics and forbade the following:
1.
Excessive horror in slaying.
2.
Kidnapping or beating of children.
3.
Third-degree methods by the police.
In
April of 1947, under the headline “Murder Is Not for Kids,”
Station KFI in Los Angeles took a full-page ad in a trade
publication, to announce a realignment of programs. Under a
typically surrealist “horror” picture of bats, black widow
spiders, skulls, a gallows and smoking pistols, the management
of KFI had this to say: “Murder and mystery shows provide
thrilling entertainment for adults, but are not the type of
program best suited for the youngsters. That’s why we have
gone to quite some trouble to rearrange our programming so that
all of out ‘who-done-it’ shows are released after 9
o’clock at night. That way the adults can enjoy well-written,
exciting mystery dramas, and the kids don’t have to hear
them.”
Ironically,
institutions, clubs, magazines and well-established societies
recognized these crime thrillers and horror dramas. Every year
they awarded these programs their highest medals of merit. A
group of writers chosen in a nationwide ballot of mystery
authors for outstanding work in six fields of detective story
telling received “Edgars” at annual Edgar Allan Poe Awards
dinners held in New York and Hollywood. The tokens, small
porcelain busts of Poe, were the mystery writers’ counterpart
of the motion picture industry’s “Oscars.” John Dickson
Carr, then-president of the Mystery Writers of America
(previously a script writer for the first season of radio’s Suspense,
in 1942-43), announced the recipients’ names annually
reminding those in the radio industry that crime does reap
rewards.
Martin
Grams, Jr. is
the author and co-author of numerous books including The I Love A Mystery Companion, The
Sound of Detection: Ellery Queen’s Adventures in Radio, Inner
Sanctum Mysteries: Behind the Creaking Door and Gang
Busters: The Crime Fighters of American Broadcasting.