John Crosby's Radio and Television (1952)(LONG! BUT BRILLIANT!)

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   John Crosby wrote the column titled "RADIO AND TELEVISION."  These three columns are so interesting, I'll reprint them at length.
   From the NEW YORK HERALD TRIBUNE, 8 September 1952, pg. 17, col. 1:

   _"Going, Going--Ooops!"_
(...)
   Even if it's a dull ball game, you can always sit back and get a course in what passes for the English language on television.  Somewhere in the course of human events, a lot of cities have disappeared from the map.  Boston has vanished from the language.  It's Beantown now.  The Washington Senators are invariably described as coming from "the nation's capital."  Detroit, in the lexicon of too many baseball announcers, is the Motor City and the home town of the Cubs and the White Sox is known only as the Windy City.
   The sporting scribes (writer to you) have always strained a bit at the limitations of the language, but the TV announcers have, I rather suspect, a lot to do with driving them shamefacedly back into coherence.  At least, I don't see, to detect in their (Col. 2--ed.) prose the particular effulgence that so illuminates that of the sports announcers.  There is no such thing as an error any more.  It's a miscue, grandfather, or at very least a misplay.
   The double play is no more.  It's a twin killing.  They aren't innings any more either; they're frames.  Archness has enveloped the sportscaster to a degree that should irritate, if not the rest of us, at least the ballplayers.  A leadoff man has become the leading lady, a term that, I imagine, would drive that noted leadoff artist Eddie Stanky into really wonderful flights of profanity.  No pitcher any more has a record of so many losses; they're setbacks.  "McGillicuddy has ten wins against ten setbacks" is how you say it now.
   And, of course, your ten-year-old son could tell you that they don't play games under lights any more; they're playing under the arcs.  That is, if they're playing what was once known as a doubleheader but is popularly referred to now as "a twi-night affair."  The home run, of course, vanished into the mists years ago to be replaced by the Ballantine blast and other commercial inducements.  Those so aroused the ire of the customers that some of the local boys have gone on to other non-commercial but not necessarily better euphemisms.  Russ Hodges, who calls the miscues for the Giants, signifies a home run with the words "Bye bye baby," which with "leading lady" indicates a growing feminization of baseball parlance that ought to be checked right now.  Mel Allen has returned to that old, old standy "Going, going, gone."  Mr. Allen has his own unique twist on this chestnut because frequently he calls "going, going" and then is regretfully forced to explain that somebody caught it.

"Mel Allen at the Mike" is in the NYHT, 7 September 1952, section 3, pg. 2, col. 7: "The Yankees win, 5 to 4.  How about that!"--ed.)

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   From John Crosby's RADIO AND TELEVISION, NYHT, 21 September 1952, section 4, pg. 1, col. 1:

   _Here's Prunes in Your Teeth_
   MY Madison Avenue etymologist, who has been assigned the task of keeping abreast of the English language employed by the ad people, blew in the other day, his briefcase bulging.
   "Let's pressure-cook it," he announced cheerily.
   He had me there for a moment.  I haven't been around the Madison Avenue crowd for awhile.  "I'm soft as a grape," I murmured.  "Throw me the spellout.  In short--what the hell do you mean: 'Let's pressure-cook it?'"
   "I mean let's play house with it," he said, opening his briefcase, which spilled metaphors in all directions.  "The prose situation on the Avenue his firmed up since last we met.  Let's try it on for size, shall we?"
   "Let's what?"
   "You _are_ soft.  Word-wise, you're not tuned in on my antenna.  Get with it, lad!  Get the egg off your face, or you'll be caught off first base without a paddle."
   "Update me, big boy," I murmured.  "Give me the new wrinkle on the pitch.  I'm way down wind."
   "Okay, crowd in," he said picking a sheaf of papers from his briefcase.  "I'll pitch up a few soft mashie shots to see if you're anywhere near the green."  He pulled out a document.  "This is an actual letter that went out from an ad agency the other day.  See what you can make of it:
   "'You are absolutely right about how it figures--TV is pricing itself right out of the market.  What frosts us is that this is happening just when it is positively sensational, clientwise, especially with the top brass.
   "'Price-wise, trouble isn't the only grief either.  The only way you can go home with your skin on is to buy the stuff packaged and then if you get it (Col. 2--ed.) from the webs, you may have clearance trouble and the thing may turn out to be a turkey.  It isn't just the kines are washed out but all those D. B.s mean that you are in lousy slots.  So what chance is there to explode the market?'"
   I took a deep breath.  After all, you mustn't concede easily.  "It doesn't quite jell with me," I said.  "When you glim the over-all picture, you must realize there are certain rock-bottom slants which have to be considered before the final wrap-up."  I paused for station identification.  "How am I doing?"
   "Just fair!  Just fair," he said.  "The trouble with you is that you are still too definite.  You wouldn't last an hour on Madison Avenue even if they took the buses off it.  If you're going to talk even reasonably respectable ad agency English, you have to ride with the punches; you got to housebreak it for the top brass; you have to hit 'em where they live."
   "I'll buy that," I exclaimed.  "Housebreak it?  That's a new one--and a very good one.  How do you housebreak an idea?"
   "Why, it's the easiest thing in the world.  You kick it around.  You take a reading of the general situation to be sure that the whole picture hasn't changed.  You gather the gang and spitball until the wrinkles are ironed out.  You mother-hen it.  You talk off the top of your head and the bottom of your pants.  In short, you finalize it.  By that time, it's so thoroughly housebroken its mother wouldn't recognize it."
   He picked out another paper.  "Oh, one other thing--protein.  That's the new word.  The format has to have enough protein to stand by itself.  If you've got enough protein, if you've figured the angles, and checked the trade, you're in the clear.  Otherwise, you're in leftfield with prunes in your teeth."

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   From John Crosby's RADIO AND TELEVISION, NYHT, 29 October 1952, pg. 25, col. 1:

   _"Well, Bully for You"_
HOLLYWOOD.
   I have in the past discoursed on the vagaries of the language used in advertising circles.  Today, kiddies, the subject is Hollywood English, about which a whole lexicography could be issued.  In fact, if you're not reasonably hep, you could stay here for weeks and not understand a single word any one said.
   Let's start the lesson with the proper expressions to use to an ector or producer just after you've seen his picture.  We'll assume that it's a real stinker.  One way to handle this diplomatically is: "This picture needs special handling."  Or: "The kids will love it."  For soothing an actor who's committed a horrible clinker: "You looked great in the rushes."  For soothing a producer whose latest picture has got terrible notices: "Nobody likes it but the people."
   One of the best ways to handle the situation at a preview is to rush up to the producer, grab his hand and ejaculate: "Bob, you've done it again!"  This can mean anything.  If you want to give it the real kiss of death, call it a "prestige-type" picture.  Of course, it's just possible you might _like_ the picture, in which case you say: "It's a great little picture."  The use of the word "little" is very curious here.  Even "Quo Vadis" is referred to as a "great _little_ picture."  If you're talking about a bad picture among yourselves when no one involved is around, the proper expression is: "Don't miss it if you can." (See ADS-L archive on this line--ed.)
   Hollywood abounds in real weird characters and, naturally, expressions have sprung up to cope with these people.  One line, guaranteed to wither the stoutest hide, is to turn to your companion and remark: "Get a stick and I'll help you kill it."  Another one: "Follow him and see what he eats"--which is one of my favorites.
   Not all of these things are confined to Hollywood, of course.  Some have escaped through to Braodway.  One, which is common on both coasts, is the "nothing but" gambit.  "He's got nothing but talent."  "That picture will make nothing but money."  Or: "He's got nothing but money."  Money is on every one's lips and the proper line for a tight-fisted actor--hardly a new one but one you (Col. 2--ed.) hear in Hollwood more often than anywhere else--"He's got the first dollar he ever earned."
   Hollywood has always had a number of interesting words to call its women.  Current at the moment is to designate a doll who has passed through quite a few hands: "passion lips."  For a girl, just any girl, the cats now say Mabel.  Every girl is Mabel or a Mabel or, if plural, some Mabels.
   One expression that has overflowed Hollywood but probably originated here and is still in wide usage: "Be my guest."  This can be used almost anywhere.  If you want to use a man's phone or sit down at his table at a nightclub or jsut hitch a lift in his car, it's "Be my guest"--usually with a faintly exasperated inflection.  Every one has heard the brushoff line: "Don't call us.  We'll call you."  Out here, though, it's "Call you tomorrow."  Tomorrow never comes.
   Table hopping is practiced everywhere.  But in Hollywood there's a practice referred to as "people-hopping."  A man who at a party or a bar jumps from person to person, always in quest of, never finding, the perfect companion, is a "people-hopper."  Then there's a two-line ploy you hear quite a lot of.  An agent, let us say, is trying to peddle a client to a producer.  The dialogue goes like this:
   AGENT:  I think he's a great actor.
   PRODUCER:  When will you know definitely?
   An expression for the star who has blossomed into the big time overnight: "Two years ago she couldn't get arrested."  One catch phrase which you hear all over now but especially here is the girl or boy gambit: "Jane Doe, girl idiot," you say.  Or "John Doe, boy slob."  Frequently, these insults are meant as rough terms of endearment.  Another expression which, through Martin and Lewis, has gone coast to coast is: "That's my boy!" or "That's my girl!" usually meaning that you'll go along all he way with him or her.
   The most overworked words in the Hollywood lexicon are "this" and "great."  "This" prefaces almost every sentence.  "This--I've got to see."  Or "This has got to go."  Or "This, I refuse to believe"--with the emphasis always on "this."  As for the "great," the proper usage is the depracatory "great" or "just great," a contradiction that disturbs nobody.
   Then there's the situation when an actor tells you he's just been signed for another twelve pictures--or maybe for just one more.  "Well, _bully_ for you!"--with faintly mocking overtones.  That'll cut him down to size.