Radio: The McCoy

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A polyglot station is Manhattan's WHOM. Over its 1,000-watt transmitter are regularly aired programs in German, Italian, Polish, Greek, assorted other languages. But six times a week, near the end of its broadcasting day, WHOM goes enthusiastically native with George Braidwood ("The Real") McCoy and his sidewalk interviews from Times Square. Jut-jawed and sardonic, McCoy is a 36-year-old Harlem Irishman who got into radio via publicity, after working as swimming instructor, peddling Easter-egg dyes and canned clams.

McCoy has conducted his nightly grillings on & off since early last year. Beginning at the World's Fair Midway, he has pitched his way through Ripley's Odditorium on Broadway, is stationed now in the lobby of a Child's Broadway restaurant. No stooges participate in his shows. Everyone is welcomed to his mike except roaring drunks and obvious lunatics. He entices clients from Manhattan crowds by rumbling: "Step up, brother, stop your mad rush to the grave," proceeds to subject them to a barrage of jests, jibes and singularly unabashed questions. At high speed, he whirls through a quiz that in cludes such inquiries as: "What's your name, what do you do, are you in love, what is love, are you a dreamer, how do you stand on the three-way stretch—thank you, brother. There's a lull in the joint. Come here, dear."

McCoy often describes his program as a family affair, makes frequent mention of his relatives, who provide, he says, his listening audience. He also likes to dwell on the doings of his dog, sometimes known as Only-Game-Fish-Swim-Upstream. Celebrated are his ribaldries. On winter nights he has announced that the cold has compelled Ripley to take the brass monkey inside, occasionally instructs actors who happen in on his show to recite "anything from Shakespeare to Dr. Wharton's Almanac." A favorite of Manhattan sophisticates, he has introduced on his show a lady glass-eater, who quietly munched razor blades during her interview, a ladies' sportswear manufacturer, who described how he would paint Bach's music, many a trull, tramp and taxi driver. Fond of kidding Major Bowes, McCoy often bills his program as "Second Lieutenant McCoy's Opportunity Hour."

Only sporadically sponsored, McCoy has made little money out of his program. But last week he had an audition with Manhattan's WNEW, was hopeful that shortly his show would bring him cash as well as credit.