that the modestly priced announcer Paul Douglas could handle the introductions just fine. (Ten years later, Douglas would star opposite Judy Holliday in Born Yesterday on Broadway.)
Renamed It’s Chesterfield Time, the stripped-down version of the series was launched on January 1, 1937. Billed by CBS as “Our First Lady of Rhythm,” Kay remained the overall driving force as star vocalist, choral director of her Rhythm Singers, and vocal arranger.
“I rehearse my group and make the arrangements,” she told a reporter, “and then give them to Hal Kemp, who fits his orchestra into it the way he wants to. But my arrangements of tunes are set and are the basis for any elaboration the orchestra makes.”
Kemp’s elaborations were the antithesis of Kosty’s—light on symphonic flourishes, heavy on blasts of brass and percussion. “It was better for Kay with Kostelanetz,” Hugh Martin believed. “I liked it better because I liked the rich, plush sound that Kostelanetz got. But, it was good both ways. Kay seemed to get along fine with both of them.” And according to all accounts, Kemp got on well with Kay.
T hompson’s popularity was at an all-time high but, of course, being a radio star did not necessarily translate into being mobbed on the street. Other than the occasional fan magazine spread and print ads for Dodge and Chesterfield, the general public had rarely glimpsed what Kay looked like. With any luck, that was about to change.
Herbert J. Yates, the cigar-chomping honcho of Republic Pictures, the Poverty Row movie studio, offered Kay the lead in Hit Parade of 1937, a musical scripted by Bradford Ropes, author of Forty-second Street. Despite the dubious pedigree of the low-budget quickie, it was just the sort of showcase she needed to springboard her way into major studio pictures. And the part was not a stretch. Kay was set to play Ruth Allison, an aspiring radio singer who becomes an overnight sensation via the guidance of talent agent Pete Garland (Phil Regan), with whom she falls in love. All would be perfect except that Ruth has a secret criminal past that threatens to ruin her career and her relationship.
Although Kay was announced for the role in the Los Angeles Times on January 18, 1937, her commitment to It’s Chesterfield Time prevented her from being available for the West Coast shoot in February. Her appeal to William Paley for a leave of absence was denied and so, to her great dismay, she was replaced by Frances Langford, her top radio rival.
On a brighter note, Kay was enjoying the riches of steady employment. She moved into a bigger, more luxurious apartment at 520 Madison Avenue between Fifty-third and Fifty-fourth Streets—within sneezing distance of CBS.
As Radio Mirror reported, “Kay took an entire floor, so that her three dogs could have plenty of room.”
Indeed, Mr. Chips had acquired two roommates, a pair of cocker spaniels named Nooky and Mooey (after characters in Mazo de la Roche’s novel The Master of Jalna ). The additional space would also provide more elbow room for the human members of Kay’s entourage—boudoir companion Jack Jenney and maid Mamie—not to mention ample expanse for entertaining. Kay decorated the place herself, the first time she really had the money and a canvas large enough to serve as an outlet for one of her latent talents.
“She had a stunning apartment,” Bea Wain recalled. “Highly styled, very dramatic.”
So much so, it got ink. A radio trade paper reported, “The woodwork is largely white and there is a particular fireplace that is the delight of Miss Thompson’s heart. At the first venture with a real log fire, the mantelpiece looked as though it had been held over a Pittsburgh blast furnace. But that’s fixed now.”
Then, quite unexpectedly on January 27, 1937, Kay eloped with Jack Jenney, tying the knot in a secret New York ceremony, witnessed by her manager, Mark Hanna, plus chorus members Elizabeth Newburger and Loulie Jean
Renamed It’s Chesterfield Time, the stripped-down version of the series was launched on January 1, 1937. Billed by CBS as “Our First Lady of Rhythm,” Kay remained the overall driving force as star vocalist, choral director of her Rhythm Singers, and vocal arranger.
“I rehearse my group and make the arrangements,” she told a reporter, “and then give them to Hal Kemp, who fits his orchestra into it the way he wants to. But my arrangements of tunes are set and are the basis for any elaboration the orchestra makes.”
Kemp’s elaborations were the antithesis of Kosty’s—light on symphonic flourishes, heavy on blasts of brass and percussion. “It was better for Kay with Kostelanetz,” Hugh Martin believed. “I liked it better because I liked the rich, plush sound that Kostelanetz got. But, it was good both ways. Kay seemed to get along fine with both of them.” And according to all accounts, Kemp got on well with Kay.
T hompson’s popularity was at an all-time high but, of course, being a radio star did not necessarily translate into being mobbed on the street. Other than the occasional fan magazine spread and print ads for Dodge and Chesterfield, the general public had rarely glimpsed what Kay looked like. With any luck, that was about to change.
Herbert J. Yates, the cigar-chomping honcho of Republic Pictures, the Poverty Row movie studio, offered Kay the lead in Hit Parade of 1937, a musical scripted by Bradford Ropes, author of Forty-second Street. Despite the dubious pedigree of the low-budget quickie, it was just the sort of showcase she needed to springboard her way into major studio pictures. And the part was not a stretch. Kay was set to play Ruth Allison, an aspiring radio singer who becomes an overnight sensation via the guidance of talent agent Pete Garland (Phil Regan), with whom she falls in love. All would be perfect except that Ruth has a secret criminal past that threatens to ruin her career and her relationship.
Although Kay was announced for the role in the Los Angeles Times on January 18, 1937, her commitment to It’s Chesterfield Time prevented her from being available for the West Coast shoot in February. Her appeal to William Paley for a leave of absence was denied and so, to her great dismay, she was replaced by Frances Langford, her top radio rival.
On a brighter note, Kay was enjoying the riches of steady employment. She moved into a bigger, more luxurious apartment at 520 Madison Avenue between Fifty-third and Fifty-fourth Streets—within sneezing distance of CBS.
As Radio Mirror reported, “Kay took an entire floor, so that her three dogs could have plenty of room.”
Indeed, Mr. Chips had acquired two roommates, a pair of cocker spaniels named Nooky and Mooey (after characters in Mazo de la Roche’s novel The Master of Jalna ). The additional space would also provide more elbow room for the human members of Kay’s entourage—boudoir companion Jack Jenney and maid Mamie—not to mention ample expanse for entertaining. Kay decorated the place herself, the first time she really had the money and a canvas large enough to serve as an outlet for one of her latent talents.
“She had a stunning apartment,” Bea Wain recalled. “Highly styled, very dramatic.”
So much so, it got ink. A radio trade paper reported, “The woodwork is largely white and there is a particular fireplace that is the delight of Miss Thompson’s heart. At the first venture with a real log fire, the mantelpiece looked as though it had been held over a Pittsburgh blast furnace. But that’s fixed now.”
Then, quite unexpectedly on January 27, 1937, Kay eloped with Jack Jenney, tying the knot in a secret New York ceremony, witnessed by her manager, Mark Hanna, plus chorus members Elizabeth Newburger and Loulie Jean
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