Radio & TV: How Do You Do?

Big, determinedly friendly Norman Brokenshire, who has been on radio almost as long as static, has lost his faith in his trade only once. In 1926, after two years as a staff announcer on New York’s WJZ, he left radio for vaudeville, convinced that “as time goes on, the announcer’s role will become less & less important.” That was the first of more than a dozen exits from the industry—and the only voluntary one—during the quarter-century in which convivial Norman Brokenshire has fought his well-publicized battle with alcohol.

Brokenshire’s latest comeback to radio appears to be sticking. It began with an announcing chore in 1945 on Theatre Guild on the Air. Then, two years ago, New York’s WNBC signed him up to do Take It Easy, a half-hour (later expanded to 45 minutes) daytime disc-jockey show. His easy microphone manner and his new reliability made him a solid hit with both audience and sponsor. Soon, he picked up another show, the morning Melody Time. Last week one more was added: Inner Sanctum on CBS.

Coolidge & Miss Oklahoma. Born a Scottish Presbyterian minister’s son in Murcheson, Ont. 51 years ago, Brokenshire got on radio by answering a want ad for a man with a good voice and a “knowledge of musical terms.” He had to be coached on the music terms, but the rich syrup of his voice was a natural. He covered the funeral of William Jennings Bryan (“My hardest job—I hate funerals”), the 1924 Democratic Convention, and the inauguration of Calvin Coolidge. In 1927, he was the first to broadcast an Atlantic City beauty contest (“I fell in love with Miss Oklahoma”).

During the early years he developed the opening announcement that is still his trademark. “Our biggest problem was what to say when we first went on the air,” Brokenshire recalls. “I finally decided on ‘How do you do, ladies and gentlemen.’ Pretty soon I found that other announcers were copying me. So I added a second ‘How do you do’ and really underlined the ‘do.’ “

Up & Down. Brokenshire reached the top of his trade with such other pioneers as Milton Cross and Ted Husing (both still in radio), Harry von Zell (now in movies and radio on the West Coast) and the late Graham McNamee. By 1930 he had also hit the bottom, and was trying the first of many comebacks. It failed when, after a couple of years, Chesterfield fired him for unreliability.

Working briefly on networks and outlying independent stations, Brokenshire was down, then up, then down. In 1943 he joined Alcoholics Anonymous (Forest Hills, N.Y. group) and now feels that he has a better than even chance. Says he thoughtfully: “Sometimes it takes an awful lot of kicking to get a man straightened out.” Though he never mentions drinking on the air, he feels that an intense and sympathetic bond has grown between him and his audience. “Somehow, they can sense I’ve suffered and that I’m sympathetic to other people’s suffering,” he says. “I get all kinds of letters telling me how I’ve helped people. I say to them: ‘Keep right on doing what you’re doing—as long as it’s a good thing you’re doing.’ A woman wrote me that she was taking a drink from a bottle when I said that. She put it down and hasn’t touched it since.”

All in all, Brokenshire earns about $100,000 a year. He has a house in Manhattan, a country place on Long Island, and is buying “all the insurance and annuities I can find.” Says he: “The money means something to a man who’s been through two bankruptcies. But the important thing is that I feel my experience is helping people—not just in A.A. but over the air.”