Show Business: The Nonperformers

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Every Monday evening at 10 p.m. on NBC, a honk that sounds as if it came from a goose with a bad head cold reverberates through the living rooms of America, and America listens—and watches. The Arthur Murray Party and its nasal, admittedly amateurish M.C., Kathryn Murray, have somehow waltzed into one of the top-rated spots on nighttime TV. Fortnight ago, after CBS had spent weeks advertising The Case of Dr. Mudd on Desilu Playhouse, CBS's Trendex was 18.7, the Party's a cozy 24.7.

Tall, gawky Dance Master Murray, 63, whose major contribution is to hop onstage like an arthritic flamingo at show's end and swirl his wife off-camera, is puzzled by the popularity of what is essentially a corny variety show with some dance-studio trimmings. Says he: "Maybe it's popular because they want a free dance lesson." Hostess Kathryn, at 52, still a petite 98 Ibs., tries a bit harder to understand. "I've a harsh, unattractive voice, but at least it's distinctive," she says. "The cab drivers always spot it. The other day, one of them said to me: 'You don't have talent, you can't sing, you're not a very good dancer, you're no glamour girl and you're no spring chicken, but there's one thing you do have—courage.' "

Kathryn Murray has been flaunting her courage on the air since 1950, when husband Arthur put up the money for Party's first half-hour of relentlessly joyous dancing. Although they picked up a few sponsors, the show was gradually dropped to the status of summer replacement—and clobbered Cornball Lawrence Welk when placed opposite him. Thus encouraged, says Kathryn, "we figured that if we were going to take a chance on being criticized, we'd rather do it on a winter show." This year the Murrays finally found a full-time evening sponsor (P. Lorillard).

The show has had no more trouble garnering top guest stars—often without pay—than it does audiences. Tallulah waltzes, Fernando Lamas tangos, and last week even Helen Hayes tippy-toed through a routine. "It appeals for its very amateurishness," says an NBC pressagent. "Every middle-aged woman identifies herself with Kathryn and thinks, 'There, but for the grace of inhibitions, go I.' "