Life

Crosstown Traffic

  • by Drew

Old Time Radio is a favorite subject of mine, and an enjoyable pastime that almost no one seems to share with me. Nevertheless, for me, Old Time Radio and Orson Welles go hand in hand. It should come as no surprise, really. I mean, the War of the Worlds Halloween prank gone wrong is a well-enough-known story, and the tales are true.

A number of people tuning in late to the program did not hear the disclaimer at the beginning and believed it was a real news broadcast. This may sound far-fetched today, but if you listen to a lot of Old Time Radio, you can see (or hear) how the Mercury Theater actors gave a performance that sounded like the standard radio fare of the day, and thus, sounded “real.”

But the Mercury Theater on air was only one of the many radio programs Orson Welles was involved with. In fact, he was so in demand as a radio actor that he had trouble travelling across Manhattan from one radio broadcast station to another. Taxis couldn’t cut through NYC traffic fast enough for him to make all the live broadcasts he wanted to take part in.

Then he discovered a loophole in city traffic laws. It seems you didn’t have to be sick to hire an ambulance. So he traveled about the city in a private ambulance, sirens blaring, from appointment to appointment.

Wouldn’t you love to be a cop pulling that dude over.

Cop: What do you mean you’re not sick?
Orson: I’m a famous radio performer going to work.
Cop: You what?!?!
Orson: Just kidding, I just read a some kick ass colonix reviews and think I should check it out before I start gaining weight in my forties and max out at 350 pounds.
Cop: Carry on, chubby.

Booze

Eating for 4

  • by Drew

Speaking of the late great Mr. Welles brings to mind a few great quotes…or, paraphrases maybe, because it has been quite a few years since I took a legit film class. But there were many. Many, indeed, and I used to actually think that these anecdotes made me interesting to the opposite sex. Of course, now I know better. Ask my wife…I barely ever ramble on about this stuff.

That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

Anyway…things he said:

  • I’m not very fond of movies. I don’t go to them much.
  • I hate television. I hate it as much as peanuts. But I can’t stop eating peanuts.
  • I started at the top and worked down.
  • I don’t pray because I don’t want to bore God.
  • My doctor told me to stop having intimate dinners for four. Unless there are three other people.

 

That last is a favorite knowing how he blew up late in life. I don’t even think glucomannan could have stopped this guy. His regular dinner? Two steaks, rare, and a pint of scotch.

And I read somewhere that he actually put on weight for Touch of Evil. Wooo-hooo. No meat and potatoes for this bed and breakfast man…just meat and meat. And booze. And meat.

Noise

Bang!!!

  • by Drew

(cue zither music)
That’s the shot that killed Harry Lime, as those of you who saw the movie The Third Man know…

Ah, another old time radio treat I’ve been enjoying of late. The Lives of Harry Lime, a show Orson Welles did for a couple of seasons…somewhat after his Citizen Kane/Shadow prime, but long before his fat burner Touch of Evil days.

First of all, if you haven’t seen The Third Man, get off your butt and Netflix that baby. It’s a classic. Orson makes a late and magnificent appearance in the flick, but Joseph Cotten as the confused American in Vienna trying to figure out what happened to his old roommate is pure gold. This film had to be one of Hitchcock’s favorites.

This particular radio show ran from 1951-52, following the film’s release in 1949. The great thing (and I admit this may sound like a plot spoiler, but really, are you going to take my advice and see this wonderful film?) is that Harry Lime is a dead man in The Third Man. Yup. Dead as a doornail. So, this radio show, conceived after Graham Greene’s novel and screenplay, all takes place before the events of the film. How swell can you get?

Confessions

Fences

  • by Drew

Some people say good fences make good neighbors. Others believe that kindness and open communication is best. I’ve met some people with a quiver and a half full of little apostles who still don’t know the first thing about ‘do unto others…’

These days we all sit anywhere we want on the bus, regardless of age, race, religion, or gender. At least in theory, because everyone knows cool kids sit in the back. And the water fountains are for all, and the park benches are for all…be they protected historical benches or modern benches, or fallen trees losing their bark.

Or maybe just the stump.

Listen.

Be sweet. Be sweet. Be sweet. Baby, please be sweet.

Booze

getting plowed

  • by Drew

On the relatively recent subject of plows and plow drivers – they’re nuts, right? I mean, as a generalization. They’re pretty much totally wacko. Yeah, I know there are a few normal ones out there, but the majority of guys who plow must be bat-poop insane.

This is excluding the guys who plow with back hoes and other heavy machines. They are often in a whole other class. And, of course, anybody who puts a plow on the front of a four wheeler atv. Half of those guys are cowboys, the other half are in the market for tweed sport coats and mac memory.

No, I’m talking about the standard winter sight of rusted out pickup trucks with even more rusted plows, flying out of driveways with no heed for oncoming traffic. They slide around and do donuts in the middle of the road. They bounce off trees, and in large parking lots, sometimes off each other.

I’ve know a few guys who’ve done heavy winter plowing and man, their attitude borders on a death wish. Seriously. I even knew this one guy who wouldn’t plow with any less than a half pint of vodka in him. Often more. He said it kept him loose when there were impacts.

“Impacts?” I asked. “You mean when you hit a pile of snow?”

He just laughed at that, shaking his head at my naivete.

Life

snowblind friend

  • by Drew

Lying on the pavement with the misery on his brain –

Steppenwolf quote. Great song. Makes me think about plow guys in these blizzard days.

Okay, it hasn’t snowed too much in the last few days, but we’ve still well over a foot…everywhere. And now I’m reflecting on those heavy snow days and the familiar enemy of the sane: the snow plow driver. In particular I think of the guy who plows the driveway across the street from our. Ours has been paved for a couple years now and I am a snow blowing fiend whenever the powder falls. The drive across the street is gravel, or pea stone, or whatever you want to call it.

I should say, it was gravel. Last year, pretty much the entire length of stone got dumped at the foot of my newly paved driveway. Boy, that was annoying. Our neighbors got the guy to redo their driveway somewhat, but this year he was at it again. Not as much stone ended up in our yard this time, but man, you should see the mounds of snow. No, you don’t see gravel in the snow, you see about an inch of the underlying dirt.

I’m thinking this guy is going to need some life insurance. And not because he drives like a maniac…but because my neighbor, when she gets a look at that…

© 2026 Drew Bancroft. All rights reserved. Totally.