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But whether he is tough or teary, Godfrey's special brand of folksiness obviously fills a deep national need. Last week his CBS programs—Arthur Godfrey Time (weekdays, 10:15 a.m., E.S.T., radio), Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts (Mon. 8:30 p.m., radio & TV) and Arthur Godfrey & His Friends (Wed. 8 p.m., TV)—all had Hooperatings within the magic first five. Last month, Chesterfield spread-eagled the CBS network for Godfrey by adding still another evening show, Arthur Godfrey Digest (Sat. 9:30 p.m., radio). Made up of recorded high spots from his morning routine, the Digest promptly scored a highly satisfactory 10.4 Hoop-erating.
Hereford& Arabians. His success, however difficult to explain, is carefully translated by Arthur Godfrey into personal security. After taxes and expenses, whatever is left of his astronomical earnings is plowed into annuities and insurance against the uncertain future. With Godfrey signed to a fat, twelve-year CBS contract, Godfrey's lawyer, financial adviser and good friend, C. Leo DeOrsey, is able to say: "Arthur will never have to worry again in his life, especially since his requirements are no more than the ordinary cop's in New York—and I don't mean a sergeant."
Though Godfrey certainly lives a good deal better than most cops, his standard is modest, considering his income. In Manhattan he has a cluttered two-room penthouse suite at the middle-class Lexington Hotel. His Texas-born, blonde wife Mary, who was originally an NBC secretary in Washington, lives in a ten-room brick and stone house called Beacon Hill Farms on Catoctin Ridge in northern Virginia. With her are the children: daughter Pat, 7; Arthur Jr., 9; and 20-year-old Dick, the son of Arthur's first marriage. The farm's 700 acres are stocked with white-face Hereford cattle and Arabian horses which pay its running expenses. Godfrey, a licensed airman with more than 4,000 flying hours, commutes from New York in his Navion and twin-engine Beech planes, and always buzzes Beacon Hill before landing at nearby Leesburg. He spends about half of each week in the comfortable house, often sprawled on a sofa in T-shirt and slacks, watching rival comics on TV and dozing through "intellectual" shows.
His pace in Manhattan is more feverish and, since TV made his face familiar, has become increasingly unpleasant. "I made my living for years just talking about things I bumped into in life when I was rubbing elbows with real people," he says. "But no more. Every time I go anywhere now it's all phonied up. The minute I walk in, it's 'There's Arthur Godfrey! There's
Arthur Godfrey!' Right away everything changes—nothing's on the level any more."
He also worries because his close friends are far from "average." Depending on his mood, they range from such raffish types as Columnist Robert Ruark, Humorist H. Allen Smith and Singer Morton Downey to such upper-bracket individualists as Eddie Rickenbacker and General Motors President C. E. Wilson.