Berle Boy Really Lets Himself Go
When He Gets All Wound Up
With His Dizzy Jobs, Sandwiches
Bring Relaxation;
Their Effect Is Only Temporary
By Irving Spiegel
THE BERLE roared into his abode. It
was a serene apartment in upper 5th av.—of pastoral oils, soft
lights, draperies of subdued color and row on row of books giving off a
philosophical aura. Mrs. Milton Berle—the beauteous Joyee Matthews—greeted him.
His galoshes spattered a mixture
of snow and mud on light colored rugs. Mrs. Berle winced and the draperies
rustled. The Berle puffed on a cigar of billiard stick length. He bellowed for
a sand-vate telephone number known only by 4,000,000 friends and acquaintances
and a legion of upper Bronx prospective gag writers.
A Berle follower had said: “Maybe
if you corner the guy in his apartment he might have a couple of rational
moments.” It was a sound idea. He was entitled to a monolog. Radio Row said
that at long last he was remaining on the ether waves for a time. In fact, he’s
the main cog in “Let Yourself Go” every Wednesday night at 9:30 o’clock over
CBS.
<Milton Berle has been making
people laugh for almost all of his 36 years>
Sandwiches Restore
Him to Normalcy
Getting The Berle to be
communicative is no easy task, for when Broadway’s perennial zany finishes a
performance it takes him at least six hours to regain some resemblance to
normalcy. Mr. Berle had just arrived from a benefit show.
Mrs. Berle took charge. She began
feeding him sandwiches. “A panacea,” she said. The metamorphosis was
perceptible. The Berle slumped deep into easy chair, and the apartment regained
its composure. “It doesn’t take long for him to blossom again,” warned Mrs.
Berle. It was time for Milton to descant.
In andante cantabile tones Mr.
Berle spoke of his latest radio program. So it developed that the sponsors and
the writers had given minute regard to the Berle vitality, his astonishing
memory, his rapid fire delivery of gags and jokes, and, above all, the Berle
gift of improvising and rhapsodizing at will without one look at the clock.
“The format,” said a serious
Berle, “has 23 minutes and 40 seconds of unbroken comedy material, and on every
program we have guest artists.” The comedian, it has been noted, is not a
shrinking violet on the stage. It remained for a guest to emphasize that in
that 23 minutes and 40 seconds Milton has six minutes for improvisation.
Finds Radio Audiences Are Growing
Keener
“Well,” he says, “I’m a
disciplined guy now. I look at the clock.” Great humility has permeated his
soul. “I don’t believe in overburdening a program.” Considering that Berle
thrives on laughter, that declaration was a revelation. “Humility,” said Radio
Row, “has made Berle a drawing card on the radio.”
“Radio audiences,” he wants you to
know, “are keener than ever. I’ve been doing a single act for 21 years. I know
every stock joke in existence and can drop it at any time. Radio is different. People
are aware of the day’s current events, jokes must be truthful and real.”
The wistful guest said that so far
as he was concerned the best Berle line in squelching a heckler was: “Wait a
minute, Bud. I’ll check my brains so we can start from scratch.”
The Berle has been a performer
since the age of 5, when he began his screen career with a part in the famous
Pearl White serial. “The Perils of Pauline.” He has stormed across stages for
25 years. he’s only 36. The year hasn’t passed that has not included the name
of Milton Berle in some prominent entertainment spot. Nineteen thirty-six saw
him as a headliner in the “Ziegfeld Follies”; 1937, as the guest star on
several radio shows and in the films; 1928, once again in the movies and in “Ziegfeld Follies of the Air,” on radio; 1939, night clubs and in the movies; 1940, night
clubs and on the radio; 1941 and 1942, radio, movies and night clubs; 1943, the
star of “Ziegfeld Follies”: 1944, radio, night clubs.
The Berle is a native of the big
town. He was born in Harlem, attended its public schools, and switched over to
the Professional Children’s school when engagements came thick and fast. And
behind the career and still in the front row on all occasions is Mrs. Sarah
Berle, his mother. Her affection for Milton is as legendary as George Jessel’s
mention of his mother.
And the story is told of a
rehearsal of “Vanities of 1932,” when an excited Earl Carroll berated everyone
on stage—electricians, stagehands, a nervous cast, and turned to Mrs. Sarah
Berle and said: “As for you, Mrs. Berle, you laughed in the wrong spot!” The
Berle, of course, was in the production.
The hour was 6 p. m. and the
sandwiches had worn off. The Berle began to display feverish signs of movement.
His wife said, “He’s off again.”
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