Bravos

For the same kind of audience which listens to the New York Philharmonic-Symphony Orchestra on Sunday afternoons, CBS last month tried out a program called The Pursuit of Happiness. For this show, a half-hour of not-too-spangly Americana designed to balance the ugly weight of war news, it collected a star-spangled cast.

Burgess Meredith, as master of ceremonies, set the mood: "What we have to say seriously, can be simply said. It's this:Democracy is a good thing. It works. It may creak a bit, but it works. And in its working, it still turns out good times, good news, good people. . . . And so, Life, Liberty and most particularly the Pursuit of Happiness, of these we sing!" In the first few weeks: Ray Middleton sang Maxwell Anderson's How Can You Tell An American; the editor of the Randolph (Vt.) weekly Herald and News reported the first Vermont freeze, announced that the local cider mill was open for business; Raymond Massey recited from Abe Lincoln in Illinois; Bob Benchley skitted through a shopping trip; Joe Cook imitated his three Hawaiians; Novelist Carl Carmer (The Hudson, Listen for a Lonesome Drum), countrywide correspondent for Pursuit of Happiness, reported the 175th anniversary of the founding of the Hartford Courant, the latest folklore on rattlesnakes.

For the first Pursuit of Happiness show this month, lusty Negro Baritone Paul Robeson volunteered. For his song, Director Norman Corwin dug up something called Ballad for Americans. Earl Robinson, its creator, is a two-fisted, not-too-widely recognized minstrel from the State of Washington.

For eleven minutes Paul Robeson and a chorus chanted how in 1776 Ol' Sam put on his three-cornered hat, what Patrick Henry told him about liberty or death, about George Washington and Tom Jefferson and what they did, how Betsy Ross organized a sewing circle and Paul Revere a horse race; about Old Abe Lincoln

. . . thin and long. . . .

His heart was high and his faith was strong

But he hated oppression, he hated wrong.

And he went down to his grave to free the slaves.

Man in white skin can never be free

While his black brother is in slavery.

Reconstruction, men and machines, then, at the end, mighty Paul Robeson and the chorus double-forted:

Our Country's strong, our Country's young

And her greatest songs are still unsung.

From her plains and mountains we have sprung

To keep the faith with those who went before. . . .

Out of the cheating, out of the shouting,

Out of the murders and lynching,

Out of the windbags, the patriotic spouting,

Out of uncertainty and doubting and

Out of the carpet bag and the brass spittoon,

It will come again--our marching song will come again,

Simple as a hit tune, deep as our valleys,

High as our mountains, strong as the people who made it.

In the studio an audience of 600 stamped, shouted, bravoed for two minutes while the show was still on the air, for 15 minutes after. In the next half-hour 150 telephone calls managed to get through CBS's jammed Manhattan switchboard. The Hollywood switchboard was jammed for two hours. In the next few days bales of letters demanded words, music, recordings, another time at bat for Ballad for Americans.

For Paul Robeson to stampede an audience was not particularly startling. But last week's bravos established that: 1) Pursuit of Happiness was a hit radio show; 2) U. S. radio listeners are starved for such stuff. Composer Earl Robinson used to sing his own ballads in overalls, to his own guitar, barely subsisting on pickings from the late Federal Theatre, from earnest groups in Manhattan who found his songs good. Last week, Earl Robinson's song was on its way to a publisher, was slated for early recording, and in the wind was a Broadway stage production, with Ballad for Americans its theme. But to inquiring advertisers interested in sponsoring Pursuit of Happiness, CBS last week for the time being had two short words: "No sale."

On this week's show, Walter Huston, from Hollywood, wrestled through Stephen Vincent Benet's The Devil and Daniel Webster; eagle-beaked Comic Jimmy Durante paid off with: "T'ank yuh, Boigess. May I call yuh Meredit'?" Much of the continuity was contributed by the U. S.'s No. 1 literary jack-in-the-box, William Saroyan. Volunteer Saroyan mailed in the last of his manuscript Friday night, forgetting Saturday was Armistice Day, a mail holiday. When Sunday came, and no Saroyan, CBS chased him down, had him re-conjure the missing paragraphs.

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