Music: Quarter Century

(See front cover)

In Manhattan one afternoon last week, a dark-skinned crickety little man jumped from a taxi into a Broadway barber shop, had himself shaved, dashed for his office, summoned a stenographer and in a plaintive singsong voice dictated a dozen lines of verse. He read them over ruefully as he paced the floor. His subject was old songs and he was worried for fear it would sound conceited to say:

I'm proud to have written a few That still are remembered by you.

Irving Berlin was celebrating his 25th year as a songwriter by putting on a radio revue, sponsored by Gulf Refining Co. (Sundays 9-9:30 p.m. E. D. S. T.). The latest lyric was to introduce "Alexander's Ragtime Band" and "Always," his two favorites. For the five broadcasts there were 100 Berlin songs. Three weeks ago the programs began with a smashing song parade (see box), left millions of listeners marveling not only at Berlin's record for hits but also at the way he has survived the changing fashions. Many an oldtime songwriter can stir up sentimental memories. Irving Berlin's parade marched proudly and vigorously into 1934, ended with a medley from As Thousands Cheer, the biggest theatrical success since Depression.

A man would need to be even more modest than Irving Berlin not to be proud of As Thousands Cheer, with its sure-fire title, its quick topical lines on which Moss Hart collaborated, its lyrics and music which Berlin wrote alone, varying his mood until it was hard to believe that the same man had written gentle, reminiscent "Easter Parade" and stomping Harlemy "Heat Wave." The box-office success of As Thousands Cheer beats that of Of Thee I Sing, the 1932 Pulitzer Prize-winning show for which George Gershwin wrote the music. It is running far ahead of Jerome Kern's Roberta, although no single show tune is selling so well as "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes," Roberta's lifesaver.

Irving Berlin is proud of having set a record in the theatre's lean time, proud of having written a fast, popular show at 46, when most songwriters' careers are over. But deep in his heart he has a warmer feeling for the first Music Box Revue ("Say It With Music"). And never has he been so proud as when in 1910 he was able to buy his mother a hard shiny set of parlor furniture with the royalties from "My Wife's Gone to the Country" and "Call Me Up Some Rainy Afternoon."

The previous years had been hard for young Irving Berlin, born Israel Baline in Molgne, Russia. He was the youngest of eight children. His father was a cantor. First thing he remembers is lying on a blanket on the side of a road while his home and half the village burned to the ground. The family drifted to New York where Father Baline got irregular work certifying meat for kosher butcher shops. He died when "Izzy" was eight. Four sisters went on doing bead work in an East Side basement home. An older brother worked in a sweat shop. For two years "Izzy" went to public school, sold newspapers on the side. But on Saturday nights he was rankled to see that the other children had earned more money than he to put in their mother's apron. At 14 he decided he was a burden, ran away.