The Mighty Music Box

I recently learned of the death of Tom Delong  at age 75, on July 12^th.  He wrote numerous books on old time radio (The Mighty Music Box), singers (Frank Munn) and  reference works (Radio Stars: An Illustrated Biographical Dictionary of 953 Performers, 1920 Through 1960).  When he was in the midst of writing Music Box, he interviewed my mother for details about my father’s career.  Later, after her death, he invited me to attend a celebration of the book’s publication in 1980 at the Pequot Library in Southport, Connecticut.  I loaned the library a portrait of my father for the occasion.  At the event, I also met some of my father’s radio colleagues—Maria Gambarelli (who performed with Roxy’s Gang), baritone Douglas Stanbury, and Arthur Tracy (also known as The Street Singer on radio).  All of this was long before I got the idea to write a book about my father, so I was less interested in these early radio legends than I should have been!  Nevertheless, Tom’s book The Mighty Music Box is well worth reading for anyone interested in old time radio, and I am sorry to hear of his passing.

 

More on "Half" and the boat...

My father had several boats (in succession, not all at once!) beginning with “Melody” in 1933, and ending with “Serenata.”

She's the only one I remember, since we had her in the 1950s. A 54-foot Annapolis, she was a great bargain, according to my father. The previous owner's steward, coming aboard one night when the boat was unoccupied, thought he smelled gas. He lit a match. He was right. It was gas. The entire bow was blown out. My father customized this “bargain” to the tune of $90,000. He put radio speakers in every cabin, there was a television and phonograph in the lounge, plus all the latest electronic equipment, ship-to-shore telephone, radar. On the afterdeck, we carried a 15-foot inboard mahogany-decked dinghy named “Irregardless.” (“Irregardless of what you've heard, I can build you an inboard that small,” he was told by the boat builder who finally undertook this challenging task.) There was also an automobile on the afterdeck: a custom-built, half-sized antique curved dash Oldsmobile weighing 400 lbs., whose license plate read “HALF,” in answer to the inevitable question. It could be swung over the side on davits, so that the family could putt-putt around various ports of call. The boat was moored at millionaire sportsman Briggs Cunningham’s private dock near the Pequot Yacht Club in Southport, Connecticut. During the winter, “Serenata” would be docked in Palm Beach. Summers we'd cruise Long Island Sound and up the East Coast shoreline to Nantucket, Martha's Vineyard and Maine. Our captain kept the boat stocked and ready to go, so there was never a delay in departing. My little Boston Terrier usually went along too; Captain Huggins having assured me that he was “a seagoin’ dog” and wouldn’t fall overboard. It was a heavenly getaway for all concerned.

Curved-dash Olds

This is a curious bit of ephemera from 1952 sent to me by a car-collecting colleague of my father’s some years ago.

While Daddy and I are featured on the cover of Auto Sport Review, there’s nothing about him, the car, or his collection inside the magazine, with the exception of a description of the cover shot. In fact, the entire magazine is about racing and sped records—hardly what our little Curved-Dash Olds was noted for.

Here’s what the cover explanation says: “James Melton and his six-year-old daughter, Margo, pictured in a half-size model of a Curved-dash Oldsmobile built by Dick Francis of Philadelphia, who is shown with them. The car was designed by Mr. Melton and Mr. Francis and built by Mr. Francis in his bicycle shop. It has a power unit Cushman motor—two speeds forward, one reverse, transmission with automatic clutch. Body built dos-a-dos with top-grain red leather—leather fenders—speed 35 miles per hour with two adults and two children. Weight 400 lbs. Mr. Melton had the car built to car on the lounge deck of his cruiser ‘Serenata.’”

Next blog, I’ll post a photo of the car on the deck of our yacht.

1933 Chrysler Imperial

Back in May, I got a phone call from Dave Lachance, associate editor at Hemmings Classic Car magazine, asking about my father's 1933 Chrysler Imperial, now owned by Dale Fowler of Pittsfield, Massachusetts. I was able to supply a photo of the car in front of the James Melton Autorama in Florida, circa 1953, and some information from my father's book Bright Wheels Rolling.

That was the car my father drove when we were in Palm Beach for extended periods of time while he was getting the museum up and running. I think it was one of his favorite classic (as opposed to brass-era) cars. From it's gazelle hood ornament to its curved trunk, the car was eighteen feet long. That's only slightly shorter than the 1951 20-foot Daimler Green Goddess. (See my January 14th post for a photo of the Daimler.)

Dave's story on the car is in the August issue of Classic Car.

Happy 81st Anniversary

On their twentieth wedding anniversary, July 29, 1949, my parents went all out to celebrate the occasion. As columnist Virginia Safford wrote in the Minneapolis Star, "In this day when we're constantly hearing of unsuccessful marriages in the drama, movie and music world, it is pleasant to think about the Meltons. They really believe in romance, and are sentimental about birthdays, anniversaries and trips together."

The party guests included friends from 1929 through 1949.

The invitation was made up of song titles as follows:

Song Hits

1929-1949

Words by Marjorie Melton Music by James Melton

BECAUSE

MARGIE

CAPTURED

A WANDERING MINSTREL

AT A GEORGIA CAMP MEETING

(in) BEAUTIFUL OHIO

LONG, LONG AGO

THERE'S GONNA BE A GREAT DAY

MEET THE MISSUS

DADDY

BABY FACE

IN THE GLOAMING

DOWN ON THE FARM

The party had a Polynesian theme, and was held on the lawn of our rose garden in Weston. There was a Hawaiian band to entertain during the sit-down dinner for fifty. Pink tablecloths and dark blue candles carried the dramatic color scheme set by masses of pink roses and blue delphinium decorating the terrace. Lowell Thomas arrived a bit late, having broadcast his 6:45 radio program that evening from the Melton Museum. After all the guests had arrived, my father quietly left the assemblage in the garden and went up to the balcony outside his bedroom overlooking the garden. From there he sang my mother's favorite song, "Because," and then tossed a Tiffany box down to her, commenting that it was her "service stripes." Inside was a gold bracelet with a large round pendant. On one side was her monogram, on the other side was engraved "Property of James Melton."

It must have seemed to him that the world was "Property of James Melton" too. He'd achieved the musical goals he'd set for himself, he had a family who loved him, he had the money to pursue an expensive hobby, he had the material possessions for an extremely comfortable lifestyle. Once, early in his career, he said in an interview that even if he had the financial wherewithal not to have to work, he would choose to work anyway, because he loved what he did. I wonder if that still held true as he passed middle age. The responsibilities that accompanied all he possessed were enormous. In his own mind, it would seem, he felt that his energy, enthusiasm and talent were equally enormous, and certainly up to the task of maintaining those responsibilities.

The James Melton Fan Club

To fill her long days alone in Hollywood while my father was making movies, my mother had a secret life of her own as President, Secretary and Treasurer of the James Melton Fan Club under the pseudonym Louise Mitchell. This may come as a shock to the loyal fans who corresponded with Louise for many years. But somebody had to do it. My father's fans were clamoring for a club to keep them up to date on the life of their hero. She was his number one fan, and obviously had a strategic post for news. She rented a box at the Hollywood Post Office and got the club under way, keeping busy with thousands of photos to send, letters to be acknowledged, and a monthly newsletter to be published.  My mother really enjoyed her alter ego, and carried on with it for several years until some friendly fans who were visiting New York insisted on meeting Louise Mitchell. My mother decided it was time to rub Mitchell out, so she married her off to an Englishman, and sent her to New Zealand to live. (She's still there.) The sole surviving issue of "Melton Melody News," from February 1938, contains an article about how the Meltons spent Christmas in their new house in Connecticut, playing with the young singer's electric train set. There were notices of upcoming concerts and broadcasts, and a Q&A with pretty prosaic questions. This issue also notes the "retirement" of Louise Mitchell, the club's founder. (The new president was Eloise DuBois, a real person using her own name.)  The cost to mail the 8-page newsletter first class was 1 1/2 cents!

Indianapolis 500

This Memorial Day just past I was reminded of a story about my father and the Indianapolis 500 race.

In 1946, he supplied several antique cars from his collection for a pre-race lap. He also was the first to sing “Back Home in Indiana” before the start of the race that year and in several subsequent years. There's also the story that for one race, with the cars revving furiously behind him, he got flustered, and started to sing “My Old Kentucky Home” instead of “Back Home in Indiana.”