Nathan Birnbaum [George Burns]
Vaudeville Stage, Radio, Television and Film Actor
(1896-1996)
Birthplace: New York City, New York, U.S.A.
Radiography:
1932 The Robert Burns Panatela Program
1933 The White Owl Program
1934 The Adventures Of Gracie
1936 The Campbell's Tomato Juice Program
1936 The Campbell's Soup Program
1937 Lux Radio Theatre
1937 The Jell-O Program
1938 The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show
1938 Chesterfield Time
1939 Gulf Screen Guild Theatre
1940 The Hinds Honey and Almond Cream Program
1940 The Rudy Vallee Sealtest Show
1941 Well, I Swan
1942 United China Relief
1942 Command Performance
1942 Treasury Star Parade
1943 Command Performance
1943 The Bob Burns Show
1943 The Jack Benny Program
1943 It's Time To Smile
1943 Paul Whiteman Presents
1943 Cavalcade For Victory
1943 Mail Call
1944 Radio Hall Of Fame
1944 The Bakers Of America Show For the Armed Forces
1944 Your All-Time Hit Parade
1944 Birds Eye Open House
1944 Radio Hall Of Fame
1945 The Eddie Cantor Show
1945 Robert Benchley, Radio Critic
1945 Maxwell House Coffee Time
1945 The Danny Kaye Show
1946 Request Performance
1948 Philco Radio Time
1948 The Eddie Cantor Pabst Blue Ribbon Show
1948 Guest Star
1948 Kraft Music Hall
1949 Gisele Of Canada
1949 The Aldrich Family
1949 The Ammident Show
1951 Hedda Hopper's Hollywood
1951 The Bing Crosby Show
1952 The Lucky Strike Program
1952 The Doris Day Show
1964 The Arthur Godfrey Show
Here's To Veterans
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George Burns circa 1935

The ever dapper Nathan Birnbaum circa 1925

Burns and Allen publicity still for Paramount circa 1938

George and Gracie over CBS

Al Hirscheld sketch of George Burns
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From the October 17th, 1976 edition of the Oakland Tribune, a four-part series of excerpts from George Burns' book, "Living It Up":
George Burns--at Age 80
To under-20's George Burns is the Academy-Award-winning actor in "The Sunshine Boys." Those from 20 to 35 remember him as the cigar-chomping straight man with the dizzy wife Gracie of the Burns and Allen TV
show. To the rest of us George and Gracie were one of the greats of radio.
He's now 80 and going strong. When asked, "When are you going to retire?" Mr. Bums replies, "Never!" and reveals in the following article, the first of four from his new book, "Living It Up," the secret to his longevity in show business.
By GEORGE BURNS
Getting to be my age didn't happen overnight. I'm 80 years old and I had a darned good time getting there. I ran into a lot of people who ask me when I'm going to retire. I think the only reason you should retire is if you can find something you enjoy doing more than what you're doing now. I happen to be in love with show business, and I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more than that. So I guess I've been retired all my life.
I don't see what age has to do with retirement anyway. I've known some young men of 85, and I've met some very old men of 40. There isn't a thing I can't do now that I did when I was 21 ... which gives you an idea of how pathetic I was when I was 21.
But 80 is a beautiful age. The secret of feeling young is to make every day count for something. To me there's no such thing as a day off. When I'm not working, which isn't often, my day goes something like this:
I usually get up at 8 o'clock. I like getting up early, it gives me a longer day and more time to do things. The first thing I do is go to the bathroom and in the bathroom I do what everybody does brush my teeth. All right, so that's the second thing I do the first thing I do is gargle. I've got to take care of my vocal chords.
Picking out my wardrobe for the day is something I enjoy, because clothes have always been important to me. I came from a very poor family. I was 16 before owned a suit of my own. I don't know how I managed to get the $12 to buy it, but I was really proud of it. I thought I had finally made the big time.
It was a gray plaid suit with a four-button coat. I would only button the top button so that I could fold back the bottom part of the coat and put my hand in the pants pocket. I thought this gave me a jaunty look, and people would think I had money in my pocket. Believe me, the only thing I ever had in that pocket was my hand. I kept my hand in that pocket so long that when I outgrew the suit and gave it to my younger brother, my hand was still in the pocket.
Now I'm dressed for the day and ready to leave for the office. If I'm staying home that night, I stop off in the kitchen to tell my cook, Arlette, what I want for dinner. Arlette has been working for me for years and when I walk into the kitchen, she says, "Mr. Burns, you look beautiful this morning!" That's why she's been with me for years.
At 10 sharp I walk into my office, and my secretary, Jack Longdon says, "Mr. Burns, you look beautiful, this morning!" He's been with me for years, too.
I go into my inner office, and my writer, Elon Packard, says "Hiya, George!"
He's only been with me 10 years and he's a good writer, but he still doesn't know what to say in the morning.
We work in the office from 10 until noon. It's only two hours but it's a very concentrated effort. We answer correspondence, update the routines in my stage--act, write speeches for testimonial dinners, plan what I'm going to say on talk shows, write copy for various commercials I do.
But at 12 on the nose, I quit and go to Hillcrest Country Club. Hillcrest is like a second home to me. I've belonged to it for more than 40 years.
When I have my lunch there I always sit at the same table. It's called the "Round Table." The reason it's called
the Round Table is because it's a table that's round.
This table is where the action is. There's very little listening but an awful lot of talking, because most of the people who sit there are in show business. Every day the cast changes you might find Groucho Marx, Danny Thomas, George Jessel, Milton Berle and directors and producers like Eddie Buzzell, Pandro Berman, George Seaton, etc. With that bunch if you want to get a word in edgewise you have to have an appointment.
But over the years I've noticed a change at the table. Where the main topic used to be our sex lives, it's now about our bad backs. I can't speak for anybody else, but I know how I got my bad back taking bows.
As in every group there is usually one person who takes change. At our table it's Georgie Jessel. He knows all the jokes, he's a great storyteller, and very funny. But he does one thing that drives me up the wall. Whenever he's
Still Living It Up and Enjoying It All
continued from page 20
scheduled to do a eulogy at someone's funeral, he tries it out on us. Did you ever try eating lunch and listening to a eulogy at the same time? Jessel is the only one I know who can turn matzos, eggs and salami into the Last Supper.
Lunch usually takes an hour or so, and then I'm off to the card room for my favorite recreation -- playing bridge. I love the game; it's exciting, stimulating, and it makes you think. I don't say I'm the greatest bridge player in the world but the men I play with are just as bad as I am.
Sometimes I've watched some of the great bridge players play, and it's always so quiet. We argue, we fight and the language we use didn't come out of "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm." But there's a reason why we carry on like this - all the men that I play bridge with are practically my age or even older; sometimes I'm the youngest at the table. So we holler and shout to make sure the other members of the club know that we're still living. The only time we get quiet is when Georgie Jessel comes over to kibitz. It makes us very nervous because we know he's got four eulogies in his pocket.
Now comes the most relaxing and comfortable time of my day. It's a quiet time and gives me a chance to reflect about life and things in general. Arlette is in the kitchen preparing dinner, and while I'm making myself a double martini on the rocks my two cats, Ramona and Princess, are purring and rubbing against my legs as though
they're anticipating the evening as much as I am.
Of course, I only have these quiet and relaxing evenings when I don't have a date which means I'm quiet and relaxed about once a month. When I do have a date, I usually take her to dinner at a nice restaurant. I like the company of young girls, and young girls seem to like to go out with me. It's because I don't rush them there's no pressure on them. When I take them to Chasen's for dinner, in between courses they have time to do their
homework.
On occasion if I'm in a romantic mood, I invite the young lady back to my place. And at the end of the evening she won't be disappointed. We have a little brandy, I turn the lights down low, and when I think the moment is just right I send for my piano player. I sing her four or five songs and go upstairs and go to bed. My piano player takes her home. I've outlived four of my piano players.
TOMORROW: "Say Goodnight, Gracie" From the book LIVING IT UP--OR THEY STILL LOVE ME IN ALTOONA!
Copyright 1976
Field Newspaper Syndicate
Here's Part Two of the 1976 Oakland series on George Burns' autobiography from the October 18th 1976 edition of the Oakland Tribune:
Burns & Allen:
The End
The Illogical Logic Foiled By Death
George Burns and Gracie Allen were one of America's most beloved husband and wife comedy teams for over 30 years. Gracie was the scatter brain in a permanent state of confusion. George, while tapping his cigar, was the patient straight man who tried to unravel her circuitous logic. In the following excerpt, the second in a series of four from his book 'Living It Up,' George Burns recalls his life with the other half of the Burns and Allen team.
By GEORGE BURNS
I was married to Gracie for 38 years, and it was a marvelous marriage. It worked. Now don't get me wrong, we had our arguments, but not like other couples had. Our arguments were never about marriage. Whe we had a disagreement, it had to do with show business.
An Average couple who has been married for 38 years are with each other for about six hours a day. This means they see each other about one fourth of the time, so in 38 years of marriage they've only been together a little over nine years.
But not Gracie and me. We got up together, we dressed together, we ate together, we worked together, we played together, we were together 24 hours a day. That meant in 38 years of marriage Gracie and I were together four tmes longer than the average couple.
Looking back, I really don't know why Gracie married me. I certainly know why I wanted to marry her. She was a living Irish doll; such a dainty little thing, only 102 pounds, with long, blue-black hair and sparkling eyes; so full of life and with an infectious laugh that made her fun to be around. Besides all that she was a big talent. She could sing, she was a great dancer, and a fine actress with a marvelous flair for comedy.
But why did she marry me? As they say in music, I was tacit. I was nothing. I was already starting to lose my hair, I had a voice like a frog. I stuttered and stammered, and I was a bad, small-time vaudeville actor and I was broke. I guess she must have felt sorry for me.
I'm glad she did.
I suppose you're wondering: if he was bad, how did the team of Burns and Allen ever make it? It's true, I was bad, but only onstage.
Offstage was something else again. I knew show business, especially vaudeville. I knew all the ingredients involved in putting an act together. I knew exits, entrances, how to construct a joke, how to switch a joke, where the laughs were going to drop, how to build an act to a strong finish. And most important, I knew the zany off-center character Gracie Allen played onstage.
I discovered the most effective way for Gracie to get laughs was by having her tell jokes that had what I called "illogical logic"; they sounded like they made sense, but only to Gracie. This tickled the audiences and they fell in love with her because her honest delivery made all this unbelievable nonsense sound unbelievable.
As time went on I got better onstage. I had to. For me there was no way to go but up. I finally got so good that nobody knew I was there:
Gracie: On my way in, a man stopped me at the stage door and said, "Hiya, cutie, how about a bite tonight after the show?"
George: And you said?
Gracie: I said, "I'll be busy after the show but I'm not doing anything now," so I bit him.
George: Gracie let me ask you something. Did the nurse ever happen to drop you on your head when you were a baby?
Gracie: Oh, no, we couldn't afford a nurse, my mother had to do it.
George: You had a smart mother.
Gracie: Smartness runs in my family. When I went to school I was so smart my teacher was in my class for five years.
George: Gracie, what school did you go to?
Gracie: I can't tell you or I'd lose money.
George: You'd lose money?
Gracie: Yeah. The school pays me $25 a month not to tell.
George: Is there anybody in the family as smart as you?
Gracie: My sister, Hazel is even smarter. If it wasn't for her, our canary would never have hatched that ostrich egg.
George: A canary hatched an ostrich egg?
Gracie: Yeah, but the canary was to small to cover that big egg.
George: So?
Gracie: Hazel sat on the egg and held the canary in her lap.
George: Hazel must be the smartest one in your family.
Gracie: Oh, no. My brother, Willie, was no dummy either.
George: Willy?
Gracie: Yeah, the one who slept on the floor.
George: Why would he sleep on the floor?
Gracie: He had high blood pressure.
George: And he was trying to keep it down? Gracie, this family of yours, do you all live together?
Gracie: Oh, Sure. MY father, my brother, my uncle, my cousin and my nephew all sleep in one bed and--
George: In one bed? I'm surprised your grandfather doesn't sleep with them.
Gracie: Oh, he did, but he died, so they made him get up.
On Aug. 27, 1964, Gracie passed away.
I was terribly shocked. I just couldn't believe it, it all happend so suddenly. It was true that three years before, Gracie had a severe heart attack, but afterward she came out of the hospital and was just fine. For a short time we had round-the-clock nurses, but she improved so rapidly that we dismissed two of them and kept one as a nurse companion for Gracie during the day.
From time to time Gracie had little heart flutters but this created no particular problem, because when the nurse wasn't there I knew exactly what to do. I knew where the pills were and which pill to give her. So when she had flareups, I'd give her the pill, put my arms around her, and we'd hold each other until it passed. It usually lasted no longer than a few seconds.
After a few months we treated this whole thing very casually. We got used to living with it. The pills made me feel secure. As long as I had the pills with me, we lived a very normal life. I figured we could go on this way, year after year, it never entered my mind that anything could change it.
Then one evening Gracie had another attack. I have her the pill, we held on to each other--but this time it didn't work. When the pain continued, I called Dr. Kennamer, and they rushed Gracie to the hospital. Two hours later Gracie was gone.
At first I couldn't accept it. I sat there stunned. I turned to the doctor and said "How could this happen? I've still got pills left."
The doctor didn't say a word; he quietly ushered the other members of the family out of the room and left me there with Gracie. It was then that the full impact hit me. I knew I was alone.
It wasn't easy--the period of adjustment to such a loss took time. Gracie had been such an all-important part of my life that everywhere I looked, everywhere I went, the feeling of her was still there. My family and friends did all they could to help me, but my days still seemed empty. For me, the most difficult time was at night. It was hard for me to go to sleep, and when I did doze off I'd soon wake with a start and look over, expecting Gracie to be there in her bed beside me.
This went on for about six months, then one night I did something, and to this day I can't explain why. I was all ready to get into bed, and then for some reason I pulled the covers down on Gracie's bed and got into it.
I don't know whether it made me feel closer to her, but for the first time since Gracie had gone I got a good night's sleep. I never did go back to my bed.
TOMORROW: "Meet my friend, Jack"
Field Newspaper Syndicate
And here's Installment Three of the Oakland Tribune excerpts from "Living It Up" from the October 19th 1976 edition:
A Buddy Named Benny
Everyone knows George Burns and Jack Benny were best friends. It's also well known Bums could have Benny rolling in the aisles. But what were some of those shenanigans that made one of America's best funny men
take a bow to his friend? In the following excerpt, the third in a series of four from his book "Living It Up,"
George Burns tenderly recalls his long friendship with Benny and what the private Benny was really like.
By GEORGE BURNS
Somebody once said if you live long enough, sooner or later everything that can happen to you will happen. And it's true. However, I figure there must be something in life when you complete the cycle and start all over again.
I wonder how old I'll be when I get the mumps again?
As you go through life, the good things and the bad things have a way of balancing themselves out. But there
are times when you get the feeling that the bad things are winning. That's the way I felt the day my closest friend, Jack Benny, passed away.
Even though those of us close to Jack knew that his illness was terminal, when the end actually came we weren't ready for it. I've come to realize that death is forever, and there is no way one can completely accept it. I also realize that there is nothing one can do about it
Jack was gone and part of me went with him, but a lot of Jack stayed here with me. Not only me part of him stayed with people all over the world. Jack's image was so well established and the character he played was based on such reality that everybody thought of him as a personal friend.
Who could forget that walk, that voice, those familiar gestures, the outraged glances? Whenever one of Jack's self-provoked situations backfired, we all suffered his humiliation right along with him. But we laughed while we did it.
That was Jack Benny the performer, the perennial 39-year-old tightwad. But the Jack Benny I knew was entirely different. He was really something special. He was the warmest and most considerate man I ever knew. Everybody who came in contact with Jack fell in love with him. And the feeling was mutual because Jack loved people. It didn't matter if they were rich, poor, tall, small, round, square, black, white, yellow or even burnt orange Jack just loved people.
The longer I knew Jack the more he amazed me. Sometimes for no reason at all he would stop at a little bakery in Beverly Hills, buy a cake and take it up to his doctor's office. The receptionist and the nurses would make coffee, and they'd all sit around and have a little gossip session. Jack didn't have an appointment with the doctor, he just got a kick out of talking to the girls.
I envied Jack because he enjoyed everything. In all the time I knew him there was just one little thing that always griped him. He could never get what he considered a good cup of coffee. He once said to me, "George, I've traveled all over the world, I've been everywhere at least once, and I've yet to have a good cup of coffee."
"Jack," I said, 'if you've never tasted a good cup of coffee, how would you know if you got one?"
He gave me one of his scornful looks and said, "George, if that was supposed to be funny, it's lucky you don't make your living as a writer," and walked away.
But I think I figured out why the little things, even a cup of coffee, were just as important to Jack as the big things. He was a superstar for a lot of years and had achieved every goal it's possible to reach in show business.
It's a well-known fact in show business that I could always make Jack Benny laugh. And it was always silly little things that would do it things that nobody else would laugh at. During all the years I knew Jack I never told him an out and-out joke, because that would be the last thing he'd laugh at. He made his living writing comedy, so if you told him a joke, first he'd analyze it, then he'd start to rewrite it.
Now, here's something I did at a party one night and it was _____ _____ _____. You're not going to believe this, and I don't blame you because I still don't believe it either. It started while we were both standing at the bar having a drink. We were wearing dinner clothes, and I noticed that there was a little piece of white thread stuck on the lapel of Jacks coat. I said, "Jack, that piece of thread you're wearing on your lapel tonight looks very smart. Do you mind if I borrow it?" Then I took the piece of thread from his lapel and put it on my lapel.
That was it. I'm not sure, but I think that sometime during my life in show busi-
George Could Always
Leave Benny Laughing
Continued from Page 17
ness I must have thought of a funnier bit I certainly hope so. But that bit of business took Jack apart. He laughed, he pounded the bar, he kept pounding the bar and finally he collapsed on the floor, laughing. I must admit I always loved every moment of it. Being able to send this great comedian into spasms of hysterical laughter was good for my ego.
The next day I got a little box, put a piece of white thread in it, and sent it over to Jack's house with a note that said, "Jack, thanks for letting me wear this last night"
An hour later I got a phone call from his wife, Mary Livingstone. She said, "George, that piece of white thread got here an hour ago and Jack is still on the floor. When he stops laughing I think I'll leave him!"
Once I was playing the Majestic Theater in Chicago, and at the same time Jack was playing the Orpheum
Theater in Milwaukee. His show closed on a Saturday night, so he decided to come to Chicago and spend Sunday
with me. He sent a wire which read "Am arriving in Chicago 10:30 Sunday morning. Meet me at the railroad station."
I wired back "Looking forward to seeing you. What time are you arriving I'd like to meet you."
Jack wired me "Am arriving Sunday morning at 10:30."
I sent off another wire saying "If you don't want to tell me what time you're coming in, I'll see you in the hood.
When I got Jack's next wire I knew he was getting irritated. I read "Stop fooling around I'm arriving 10:30 Sunday morning. Meet me at the station."
My next wire was "How could I meet you? Didn't get your last wire."
The next thing I knew I was deluged with telegrams from all over the country. Every one of them said "Jack Benny is arriving at 10:30 Sunday morning. Meet him at the station." Jack had obviously gotten in touch with all of our friends and told them to send me these wires. I got telegrams from Sophie Tucker, Blossom Seeley, Benny Fields, Jay C. Flippen, Harry Richman, Al Jolson, Belle _____, Eddie Cantor, George Jessel, Jesse Block, Eve Sully I must have received about 25 wires. I pinned them all over the wall in my hotel room and when Jack arrived
naturally I didn't meet him. He walked into my room about 11 o'clock and said "George, why didn't you meet me?"
Very innocently I said, "I didn't know what time you were coming in."
Jack looked at me, he looked at the wires pinned to the wall, and then he fell on the bed laughing.
This is one anecdote about Jack Benny you may have heard before, but I think it bears repeating. One day he went to his lawyer's office in Beverly Hills to sign a multimillion dollar contract. I knew that it was a very big deal so when Jack came into the club that afternoon I said to him, "Jack, you must be very excited "
''I certainly am" he said. "Do you know after I signed the contract I stopped at a little drugstore downstairs and, George, I finally found a place that serves a good cup of coffee.'"
That was Jack Benny, my dearest and closest friend. And wherever Jack is I hope the coffee is good.
TOMORROW: "A Dresser Is Not a Piece of Furniture"
From the Book LIVING IT UP--OR, THEY STILL LOVE ME IN ALTOONA
To be published by G.P. Putnam & Sons
Field Newspaper Syndicate
And lastly from the series of excerpts from "Living It Up" the installment of October 20th 1976:
Triumph of the 'Sunshine Boy'
George Burns has been a vaudeville comedian, radio personality, television co-star and night-club entertainer for most of his life. Just when von think he deserves a rest, he becomes a movie star at the age of 80. "I didn't quit," he says. "I got so old I became new again." In the following excerpt, the last in a series of four from his book "Living It Up," George Burns comments on his award-winning performance in "The Sunshine Boys" and recalls a "dresser" he once had on the road.
By George Burns
I don't know if this is common knowledge or not, but most performers in show business who are doing well have a dresser. In this case, a dresser is not a piece of furniture, he's someone whose main function is to take care of your clothes and help you in and out of them. Actually, he does everything possible to make you comfortable so you're free to concentrate on giving a good performance.
I hired Charlie Reade, who was part of one of the most famous dancing acts in vaudeville, called the Dunhills. The act is still around, but with different people.
Soon I found my new dresser had several peculiar little quirks. Like when he took my shoes down to the barbershop to be shined, he would always carry them in a flight bag so that nobody would know that was one of his duties.
One day I was in the barbershop getting a haircut, and the barber said "Mr. Burns, what's wrong with that road manager of yours? Every day around one o'clock he comes in with a pair of shoes in a flight bag and whispers to my shoeshine boy, I'll pick these up in an hour and don't take them out of the bag until I leave the shop. And then he ducks out."
I said, "Well, I'm surprised he brings both of them in at the same time. He's very particular about his shoes. He usually brings in one first, and if he likes the shine, he brings in the other one. He must really trust that kid you got working for you."
Besides smuggling my shoes in and out, another one of Charlie's duties was to help me on with my coat when I got dressed for a performance. But Charlie had so much pride that he always made sure the dressing room door was closed so nobody would see him holding my coat.
One night the owner of the hotel, Bill Harrah, walked in while Charlie was holding my coat, and without missing a beat Charlie put it on and pretended it was his. So as not to embarrass Charlie I put on his coat. Both of us looked pretty silly, him in checkered pants and a tuxedo coat, and me in a checkered coat and tuxedo pants. Bill Harrah stared at us and said, "I don't want to say anything, but you fellows have your coats mixed up."
Looking down, I said. "I didn't notice that," and so Charlie and I changed coats.
Now you all know that I've spent my entire life in show business, then at the age of 79 I made one movie, "The Sunshine Boys," and it's like I'm just getting started. That should be an example to everyone. I didn't quit, I stayed in there, and I finally got so old that I became new again.
During my many years in show business with Gracie, whether it was vaudeville, radio, television or movies, we were always Burns and Allen, and I played George Burns. Now here I was playing the character of Al Lewis in "The Sunshine Boys," and it was a brand-new experience for me. But I felt the character of Al Lewis so strongly I could hardly wait to get to the studio.
Finally the day came when they were going to shoot my first scene. I had a very early call, and while I was driving to the studio I remembered something that Edward G. Robinson once told me. He said that in every picture he ever made, before they shot the first scene if he got nervous, he knew he was going to give a good performance. This kind of worried me, because in one hour I was going to shoot my first scene and I wasn't a bit nervous.
I got to my dressing room and sat down and waited. I must have sat there four or five minutes. Nothing happened. I almost fell asleep. I thought maybe if I started putting on my wardrobe that would do it.
When I finished dressing I stood in front of the mirror and forgot all about being nervous. I couldn't get over the way I looked. I had on a dark pin-striped suit, a polkadot bow tie and a white silk scarf. But I didn't look like an actor. I looked like an honorarypallbearer.
I looked at myself from different angles; first from the left, then from the right, then straight ahead. Then I threw back my head and laughed; then I looked down and frowned, but something was missing. Finally I realized what it was no cigar. Even with all those clothes on I felt naked. And there wasn't going to be any cigar, because author Neil Simon and director Herb Ross had decided I wasn't going to smoke in the picture. I couldn't imagine myself without a cigar.
The big moment arrived for me to start my new career as an actor. They called for me, and I walked onto the set with no cigar, no butterflies and dry palms.
My first scene was with Richard Benjamin. I knock on the door, and he opens it. When he sees me he says "Hello, Mr. Lewis, come on in." Well, when he opened the door and said, "Hello, Mr. Lewis, come on in," I just looked around. I didn't know whom he was talking to. When I heard the name Lewis I thought maybe Jerry got the part.
Herb stopped the scene and came over to me and said, "George, you're Mr. Lewis." I felt better right away. I knew if I couldn't remember that my name was Lewis, I was nervous enough to give a good performance.
From the book "Living It Up--Or, They Love Me In Altoona!" To be published by G.P. Putnam's Sons.
Field Newspaper Syndicated
From the March 10th 1996 edition of the Winnipeg Sunday Free Press:
He's gone to meet God--and Gracie
By Myrna Oliver
Los Angeles Times
LOS ANGELES George Burns the indefatigable entertainer whose staying power became the last, most endearing gag in a graceful, laughfilled career died yesterday morning at his home in Beverly Hills. He was 100 years and 49 days old.
The comedian, actor, singer and author apparently died of heart failure a few hours after his nurse found him shaking and breathing shallowly in his bed. His son Ronnie was with him at the end.
There were no last-second oneliners or pithy sign-offs, said Burns' longtime manager and friend, Irving Fein. But for years, Burns had insisted in gravelly monotone: "I don't believe in dying... It's been done."
Condolences poured into the Burns home from around the United States, recalling the comedian's many incarnations as the vaudevillian, the hit radio and television act with his beloved wife Gracie Allen, and as the irascible elder statesman of comedy.
In a statement, President Clinton called Burns "one of the great entertainers of all time."
His friend of nearly eight decades, comedian Milton Berle said: "He's up there in heaven with Gracie, doing their act. And if I know George, he'll be throwing one-liners at St. Peter."
Burns had been in ill health since July 1994, when he slipped and fell in the shower at his home in Las Vegas. His frailty caused him to cancel performances celebrating his centenary at the London Palladium and Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas. He was also too ill with the flu to attend his own 100th birthday bash in January.
Burns will be buried alongside Allen at a private funeral service Tuesday at Forest Lawn cemetery here, Fein said. A public memorial may be scheduled later.
"It's been hard to imagine show business before George Burns," said Bob Hope, who now, at 92, becomes comedy's elder statesman. "Now, it's difficult to imagine show business without him."
Goodnight, Georgie
Show business career began in 1903
The Canadian Press
George Burns died quietly at age 100 yesterday morning. A sketch:
Beginnings: Born Nathan Birnbaum in New York City on Jan. 20, 1896.
Early Years: Entered show business in 1903 as member of Peewee Quartet, then began vaudeville in 1905. Formed comedy act with Gracie Allen in 1923.
Later Years: Performed for some 90 years. Career spanned vaudeville, radio (The Burns and Allen Show), movies, television (The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show), nightclubs, best-selling books, recordings and video. Made first feature film with Allen in 1932, The Big Broadcast.
Married: Had two children, son and daughter, with Allen, whom he wed in Cleveland in 1926.
Awards: Won Grammy in 1991 for best spoken-word recording for excerpts from Gracie: A Love Story. Won Oscar for the aging vaudevillian in the 1975 film The Sunshine Boys.
Quotes: On retirement:"I can't afford to die when I'm booked."
On why he was considered sexy: "I've been longer at it than anyone else."
On age: "I've reached the point where I get a standing ovation for just standing."
Burns exits enduring,
endearing career
By Charles Champlin
Los Angeles Times
LOS ANGELES - George Burns, who died yesterday at the still-extraordinary age of 100, made it seem for a while as if he had no intention of leaving at all.
With his cigars and martinis and his fondness for the company of pretty young women, he made old age out to be not a grey back bedroom but an extension of the prime of life. The great achievement of his career may well have been to convince millions, who may have been doubtful, that life begins or begins again, not at 40 but at 79, as his did when he made The Sunshine Boys after a hiatus from the cameras of 36 years.
Extraordinary
His long climb from the lowest rungs of vaudeville to the top and then into radio and television as half of Burns and Allen prepared him, if not later audiences, for his extraordinary and endearing success as a single.
He remembered that when he and Grade were in vaudeville, he learned to go onstage with a cigar before the audience arrived, to test the prevailing drafts, so he could stand downwind from Gracie. He had learned that audiences resented him when the cigar smoke went in Gracie's face.
He used to claim he had the easiest act in vaudeville, since all he had to do was say "You what?" or "Your brother what?" to trigger Gracie's glorious inanities ("You could have knocked me over with a fender"). The truth was, of course, that George was the ultimate old pro, who quickly saw the appeal of Gracie's chirpy malaprop innocence.
"Say, good night, Gracie," Burns would say.
"Good night, Gracie," she would reply.
Chatting in his Hollywood office a few years ago before going off to do a show in Lafayette, La., he suddenly called to an assistant, "Phone Lafayette and find the name of the oldest theatre in town. I'll tell 'em I played there 50 years ago." After the hard years in tank-town vaudeville, he knew how to win an audience.
A trouper
Burns was a trouper in the old "the-show-must-go-on" tradition. Only a few years ago, he fell and stripped the skin off one shin, raising a ghastly bruised welt and reducing his gait to a hobble. He examined it in his Las Vegas dressing room one night after a performance. I'd have said it was a miracle he could stand, but he'd done an hour with the audience none the wiser about the injury or the pain.
He was one of the great show business raconteurs, onstage (where his tales were central to his charm) and offstage (where they flowed from an apparently bottomless memory). As with Alfred Hitchcock, another superb raconteur, it was not always clear where memory left off and imagination began, but it hardly mattered.
There was always a discernible ring of truth, as in his story about an early partner who could sing but not talk without a heavy stammer. One night at their boarding house in Altoona (or some such place) the partner ran to George gasping unintelligibly. "Sing it!" George said he cried. The partner sang, "We been robbed, we been robbed, we been robbed," to a tune George, for once, could not remember.
Many of George's stories, public and private, involved his long, dear friendship with Jack Benny. The game between them was that George could send Jack into hysterics with the lift of an eyebrow, but Jack could not raise a laugh from George, hard as he tried.
My favorite among the stories was of a long-ago breakfast. Jack said, "What're you having?" George said, "Steak and eggs; I'm hungry. What about you?" "I'm having Cream of Wheat," Jack said. "Why" George asked, incredulous. "Because Mary Livingston says it's good for me," Jack explained. "But steak and eggs are good for you." "That's right," Jack said defiantly. When the waiter came, they both had steak and eggs. When the bill arrived, George said, "You pay it, Jack." Jack said, "Why should I pay all of it?" "Because if you don't," George
said, "I'll tell Mary you didn't have Cream of Wheat."
Amazingly, George Burns linked a day before radio, let alone television, with a world of CD-ROMs and cyberspace. And no small part of the fondness audiences of all ages had for him was that he bespoke times when things seemed simpler, more innocent, less frazzled and cynical, when a few bars of soft-shoe and lines of a foolish
song from an ancient vaudeville act carried a strong and particular magic.
After Gracie died, George made monthly visits to her grave to bring her up to date on his doings. Now,
whatever one's theological leanings, it is nice to think of the act reunited.
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Grace Ethel Cecile Rosalie Allen
Vaudeville Stage, Radio, Television and Film Actor
(1895-1964)
Birthplace: San Francisco, California, U.S.A.
Radiography:
1932 The Robert Burns Panatela Program
1933 The White Owl Program
1934 The Adventures Of Gracie
1936 The Campbell's Tomato Juice Program
1936 The Campbell's Soup Program
1937 Lux Radio Theatre
1937 The Jell-O Program
1938 The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show
1938 Chesterfield Time
1939 Gulf Screen Guild Theatre
1939 Information Please
1940 The Hinds Honey and Almond Cream Program
1940 Good News of 1940
1940 The Rudy Vallee Sealtest Show
1940 Fibber McGee and Molly
1941 The New Burns and Allen Show
1942 United China Relief
1942 Command Performance
1942 It's Time To Smile
1942 Treasury Star Parade
1942 Well, I Swan
1943 This Is My Story
1943 The Bob Burns Show
1943 The Jack Benny Program
1943 Paul Whiteman Presents
1943 Cavalcade For Victory
1943 Mail Call
1944 Radio Hall Of Fame
1944 The Bakers Of America Show For the Armed Forces
1944 Your All-Time Hit Parade
1945 The Eddie Cantor Show
1945 Robert Benchley, Radio Critic
1945 Maxwell House Coffee Time
1945 The Danny Kaye Show
1945 Birds Eye Open House
1946 Request Performance
1947 The Jack Carson Show
1947 Songs By Sinatra
1947 Guest Star
1947 Front and Center
1948 Philco Radio Time
1948 The Eddie Cantor Pabst Blue Ribbon Show
1948 Kraft Music Hall
1949 Gisele Of Canada
1949 The Aldrich Family
1949 The AmmiDent Show
1949 The Adventures Of Philip Marlowe
1949 Life With Luigi
1949 The Bing Crosby Show
1949 Suspense
1951 Hedda Hopper's Hollywood
1952 The Bob Hope Show
1952 The Doris Day Show |
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Here's an insightful article on Gracie Allen from October 22nd, 1939 edition of the Port Arthur News:
This IS GRACIE
Here a Close Friend of
Gracie Allen Gives You
a New Glimpse of the
Vivacious Comedienne
By MARY JACOBS
EIGHT years ago, when she read in the newspapers that her dearest friend, Gracie Allen, had bought her first mink coat, Mary Kelly immediately telephoned her.
"I'm so thrilled about your new coat, Gracie," she said. "Do come over and let me see it."
Now at the time Gracie was a famous radio and movie star, sitting on top of the world. Mary, whom she had known for almost 15 years, had lost all her money in the depression and was working as a night telephone operator.
Since Mary had nothing, Gracie hesitated to show off her finery. When Mary admired it, Gracie's eyes filled with tears. Suddenly she said in a choked voice, "I can't get you a mink coat, but let's go shopping right now. If you have a new coat I'll feel so much better."
Then and there she canceled her afternoon appointments, went shopping with Mary Kelly and got Mary a stunning black cloth coat with Persian lamb collar and cuffs.
"You know," pleasant-faced, blond, plump Mary Kelly, whom you hear regularly on the Burns and Allen show, told me, "the surprising thing is that Gracie has changed so little since the days we were in vaudeville, and lived together at the Hotel Endicott in New York.
Then Gracie had left her former vaudeville partner, Larry Riley, and for months had been looking for a new partner without success.
"Gracie, Rena Arnold (another vaudeville actress) and I shared an apartment, paying $30 a week among us. Though it must have been hard for Gracie to pay her share, not once did she default or ask for a loan because of being out of work.
"I remember we girls each had chores. Rena made the coffee in the morning and Gracie and I washed the dishes. When we got up late it was such a nuisance to wash them that Gracie hit upon a scheme. "If we don't drink the coffee, we won't have to wash dishes," she announced.
I've heard it said that Gracie can't sew on hooks and eyes so they get together. Well, it isn't so. Back in the days when we lived together, it was Gracie who sewed fresh collars and cuffs to our clothes.
"At the time," Mary Kelly continued, "George Burns hadn't entered the scene. Gracie met him through Rena Arnold, who heard George was looking for a partner."
GRACIE had been disappointed so often that when George phoned he'd come up to read his act to Gracie, she didn't believe him. When, on the dot of 8 o'clock, the doorbell rang, Gracie almost collapsed.
"I can't believe it," she said. "He's actually here. Maybe this is going to be all right."
He was more than just all right, for from the first it was obvious that George Burns was head over heels in love with Gracie Allen. He waited on her hand and foot. Half the time she didn't know at what theater they were playing, for George did everything but carry her there. When he had arranged a booking for them, he'd phone Gracie, tell her when to start for the theater, what subway to take, where to get off, on what street the stage entrance was and the number of her dressing room.
"Once a week they'd go dancing at a night club," Mary Kelly said, running her fingers through her blond hair, "for they both loved dancing. As they grew to know each other better they'd have dinner together every night, but Gracie was very strict about paying her check, unless George had invited her out.
"And we did have wonderful times together--Gracie, George, my boy friend and I, Jack Benny and Mary Livingstone. We'd have some of the most amusing parties. Always George took charge; he'd invent games to play, make the punch and plan the refreshments. Till the moment he arrived things were dull; then they went off with a bang.
"I remember the grandest party of my life, just after I married my sweetheart, Ray Myers, who was a booker with the Orpheum Circuit. George arranged the chairs for the 12 guests as if the living room were a theater; he wrote ridiculously funny programs, and he planned the entertainment, most of which was done by him and Jack Benny.
When George did an impersonation of Huck Finn, with his trousers rolled up and an umbrella slung over his shoulder in lieu of a fishing rod, Jack Benny laughed so loudly, tapping his feet at each gale of laughter, that the neighbors got suspicious."
In the middle of the merriment two policemen came up to find out what all the noise was about.
"In those days, when we were in or around New York, all of us would spend the week-ends at a little hotel at Lake Hopalong in New Jersey," Mary continued.
The men would have their swimming and golfing; they loved it. But Gracie hates the country; she loves the city. She's not athletic and didn't learn to swim till a few years ago, when her two adopted children, Sandra and Ronald, began to be beach-conscious.
She'd be bored by those week-ends; they were always the same. The same bad food at the hotel; George entertaining after dinner and then all of them "yipping down to the Yellow Bowl," as Gracie would say, "for an ice cream soda to finish the excitement of the evening."
But since she knew the boys enjoyed it, and they could afford no better place, she always told them she loved it.
"In those days, Gracie was as thrilled to go shopping as she is today and when she bought something, she was so impatient she wanted it delivered the next minute. I remember when she ordered her first fur coat, a Hudson seal. Every minute she was on the phone to ask if it was ready.
"A few years ago, Gracie decided to have two diamond clips remade. Although the jeweler said they wouldn't be ready for two weeks, not a day passed but Gracie called him. When they finally arrived at his shop, she couldn't wait for them to be delivered, but hopped into the car and brought them back. That day Gracie tried them on everything she owned, from evening gowns to bathing suits."
WHEN George and Gracie became world-famous while the fortunes of Mary Kelly declined, people said to Mary, "Now you and Gracie travel in such different circles, it will mean the end of your friendship. You've nothing in common and you'll never see Gracie."
"Yet," says Mary, "for the next six years, every day Gracie Allen was in New York, I heard from her; her love and friendship helped me more than anything else to live through most trying days.
"At the time I was working as a night telephone operator at the NVA Club, yet Gracie, who had plenty of demands upon her time, would come and sit with me for hours, kidding me along and cheering me up.
"I've tried to take care of Gracie, too, at times," she added quietly. "Some time ago, when she came East, she was all tuckered out, and just had to have a rest. You know how much rest she's get at a hotel, so I suggested a plan to which George agreed, and together we convinced Gracie of its worth.
"Gracie Allen just disappeared till the day of her broadcast--and no reporters or publicity people could find her.
"I had her safely tucked away in the Park West Hospital, where for a week she did nothing but sleep, read, rest and eat.
"Every afternoon I'd come up to find her snoozing her head off, and looking better by the hour. When George came for dinner each night he couldn't believe his eyes at the improvement.
"Gracie always had had the tendency to keep her troubles to herself. When she worried about a song she was to sing in a picture, she went to bed with a headache, but not till she had tried uncomplainingly for hours to master it."
Gracie has a temper, though she rarely loses it, and she'll disagree with George about the gags he prepares for their scripts.
"I haven't the gall to say or do that," she insists. "It's much too silly."
"Just try it, Gracie," George keeps saying. "I'm sure people will like it."
Invariably he wins and people do like it.
"And Gracie is mighty fussy about her food; it must be prepared just the way she wants it." Mary continued.
She loves tomato juice, but put a pinch of sugar in it and the party is spoiled. Steaks and lamb chops must be so thin no one else would eat such puny fare and they must be shriveled up to satisfy Gracie.
"There's one funny thing about Gracie: She loves surprises so much and she expects you to be so surprised at things everyone else realizes are common knowledge.
"For example, she was so disappointed when I wasn't surprised to see her last fall. As if the newspapers hadn't been full of her coming East!"
And from the March 23rd 1952 edition of the Oakland Tribune:
Hollywood Beauty
How Gracie Fights Wrinkles
By LYDIA LANE
HOLLYWOOD, March 22.After Gracie Allen made her TV debut with her husband, George Burns, there was much comment on how young and attractive she looked, especially as it was known that last year they had celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
"How do you manage to keep your birthdays from showing?" I asked Gracie one afternoon as we sipped cool drinks in her lovely house in Beverly Hills.
"If you are happy you feel well and if you feel well you don't have lines in your face," Gracie told me. "George and I are a rare couple in that we really like the same thingsexcept sports." Gracie remarked that she tried to take up golf to please her husband but she got so bored. " I even hate walking, except in New York where I can window shop every step," she said.
If being happily married was Gracie's secret for staying young I wanted to know her formula for a happy marriage.
CONSIDERATE PAIR
"Consideration," she said after a thoughtful pause.
"I never take George for granted and I never ask him to wait on me. When he does, I always thank him. We have the same manner with each other that we do with strangers."
As Gracie crossed the room to offer me a cigaret, I admired her slim little figure and asked, "Haven't you lost weight?"
Gracie grinned proudly. "Yes, I've lost four pounds and as I weighed only a hundred and one, percentage wise, that's a lot I'm only five feet (she gives the appearance of being much taller ) so when I knew I was going on TV, I decided to diet."
''What diet did you follow?" I wanted to know.
"Oh! I made it up," she said lightly." And it really works very well. I am staying on it all the time, only I allow myself indulgences so long as I don't gain. If I find I'm up a pound, I don't have any starches."
Miss Allen's hair is champagne color and with her blue eyes and fair skin it is most becoming. "You're a natural blond, aren't you'" I asked.
"Oh no," Gracie said with characteristic frankness. "My hair is naturally jet black. But when I came to Hollywood to do a picture it had no high lights and looked like an ink spot on the screen, so I started wearing wigs. I made several pictures at Paramount with them and found that people were so disappointed
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Gracie's Diet
A copy of "Gracie Allen's Basic Diet for Reducing and Maintaining Weight," including her "indulgencies" can
be yours if you send five cents and a self-addressed, stamped envelope to Lydia Lane, Hollywood Beauty, in care of The Tribune, P.O. Box 509, Oakland 4. Ask for leaflet M-23.
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to find I wasn't blond. I remember Adrian was making some clothes for me and he said, 'Why don't you bleach your hair?' I told him George married me with dark hair and that I'd have to ask him. So I did and promised him if he didn't like it I would dye it back.
This is an example of the consideration that Gracie was talking about.
"Would you advise anyone else to change the color of their hair?" I asked.
"Not unless they can keep it up, because it's dreadful to see hair that is a different color at the part and on the sides. Dying is a very expensive deal. To keep my hair in good condition I also have a special scalp treatment,"
Gracie said.
"What do you consider your top beauty secret?" I wanted to know.
GOOD GROOMING
"I'm not a glamour girl so I can't afford to neglect myself," she said. "I always try to do everything I can for myself." I never leave the house without wearing my best clothes. And when I come home I have them
brushed and aired and carefully put on a hanger so they won't get out of shape. I always put trees in my shoes the moment I take them off. I'm a great believer in a stitch in time saving nine."
I asked Gracie how she felt about perfumes.
"I could be like some peoplethey have one scent and wear it all their life," she said. "I can't smell my perfume when I wear it too long and half the fun of perfume is enjoying it yourself, so I rotate four of my favorites."
Gracie Allen wears no makeup on her clear, fine grained skin.
"I felt if I wore one of those tinted foundation it would make me more glamorous," she commented. "But Georgie told me you have good skindon't cover it up.' "
"How do you care for your complexion?" I asked.
"I never use either soap or water or astringents or heavy cream," Gracie answered. "I clean my face with an oil I've been using for years. Then I use a good lotion. I think you can ruin your skin by doing too much."
Before I left Gracie's home I asked her for a copy of her "diet that really works," and the list of "indulgences" that turn the diet into a weight-controlling menu. I'll be happy to pass on a copy to you.
Look for the leaflet offer on this page.
Copyright 1952 for The Tribune
From the August 20th 1963 Oakland Tribune:
CYNTHIA LOWRY
Artist of Timing?
It's Gracie Allen
HOLLYWOOD (AP)--Jack Benny, the acknowledged master of timing, insists that the performer without peer in this subtle art is Gracie Allen.
Timing is the ability to do the right thing at the right moment, the quality that tells Benny, for example, exactly how long to pause before turning an exasperated face to the audience and exclaiming "Well."
Gracie Allen has retired but those old Burns and Allen television shows are still around and Benny is their ardent fan.
NOBODY ELSE
"Nobody has Gracie's timing," Benny said, "and when I see those shows today I'm constantly more amazed by it. Remember, she had one of the toughest jobs in the world, doing non-sequitor lines. They came right out of the blue, and there was nothing in the feed lines that could cue her responses. They just didn't make sense. It was a terrible job to handle them. But she'd Ooh and Ah around and come up with them exactly right."
Jack is deep in plans for his 14th season in network television, dismayed but not downhearted because of a CBS decision to separate him from "The Red Skeleton Show," which has preceded him in recent years. This year, "Petticoat Junction," a new comedy series, will be slipped between the established Tuesday night shows.
COMPLAINT
"I don't understand it," Benny complained. "It was a good setup and we helped each other. But all they seem to care about today is ensuring the success of new shows. Now I'm opposite the last part of two hour long shows and in back of an untried one."
Isn't he tired of playing the same vain, miserly character?
"Oh, it never gets boring," he protested. "The character is a composite of faults you'll find in everybody--or at least in everybody's family."
"And besides," he added, "there's no limit to the cheap jokes. And we can do stingy jokes without even gag lines, because the character has been established for so long.
And from the August 28th 1964 edition of the Oakland Tribune:
Heart Attack Kills
Gracie Allen at 58
HOLLYWOOD (AP) - Gracie Allen, whose scatterbrained comedy helped make Burns and Allen a top act in show business for 34 years, died last night after a heart attack. She was 58.
Spokesmen for the family said Miss Allen died at 11:15 p.m. and that her husband, comedy actor George Burns, was at her side at Cedars of Lebanon Hospital.
Contacted at the Burns home in Beverly Hills, William Burns, George's brother, said the popular comedienne had been in seemingly good health before being stricken.
MILD ATTACK
He said she had experienced mild heart attacks in the past. They didn't, however, seem to slow her down much. Ten days ago she and her husband were among the guests at the gala wedding reception for Edie Adams and her new husband Marty Mills.
She appeared effervescent and cheerful, as she has been since her retirement in 1958.
Until then, the strain of sustaining her nitwit role sometimes made her tense and withdrawn.
REAL ACTRESS
At the time of her retirement, Burns explained why she quit: "She's never missed acting for a minute. She never was a ham, anyway. Most actors are aware of playing to an audience. Not Gracie. The side of the stage toward the audience was a wall to her. She concentrated only on what she had to say and never gave a thought to cameras or lights or makeup or anything.
"She deserved a rest. She had been working all her life, and her lines were the toughest in the world to do. They didn't make sense, so she had to memorize every word. It took a real actress.
"Every spare moment in bed, under the hair dryer had to be spent in learning lines. Do you wonder that she's happy to be rid of it?"
Miss Allen was born in 1906, the year of the great earthquake in San Francisco. Named Grace Ethel Cecile Rosalie Allen, she was one of four daughters of Edward Allen, a song and dance man then booked in San Francisco.
At 3 1/3, she had made her stage debut but she continued in Catholic schools until she was 14, when she began a dancing act with her three older sisters.
Later, she joined an Irish song and dance act and at one time went to secretarial school in Hoboken, N.J. It was in New Jersey that she met George.
Born Nathan Birnbaum in 1896 Burns had been through the vaudeville mill and claims to have weathered 50 partners before encountering Gracie.
She saw him on a bill at Union Hill, N.J., where he was booked as Burns and Lorraine. They met after the show and George revealed he was seeking a new partner. He suggested that Gracie join him.
REWROTE THE ACT
Gracie recalled later "Of course George had written this act for himself, with himself as the comedian and I as the straight man but the funny thing -- my straight lines got the laughs. People laughed twice as hard at my not being funny as they laughed at George's being funny. When we came of after the first show, he said, 'We're switching parts, Gracie.' He rewrote the act then and there."
Burns and Allen played vaudeville for three years hefore he was able to convince her they should get married. They were wed in Cleveland on Jan. 7, 1926.
INTO BIG TIME
After their marriage they were propelled into the big time.
They became headliners in vaudeville and starred on the bill that ended Vaudeville at New York's Palace Theater. After guest-starring on Rudy Vallee and Guy Lombardo radio programs, they began their own show on Feb 15. 1932.
Their career continued in radio and television until Gracie's retirement.
They also appeared in such movies as "Big Broadcast of 1932," "International House," "Love in Bloom," "Damsel in Distress," "College Swing," "Honolulu" and ' The Gracie Allen Murder Case."
George once analyzed his wife's humor "Gracie is not really crazy, if she were, we couldn't get a day's work."
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