(6 of 9)
Valuable Lesson. It was a revolutionary discovery. Back at NBC he put his new theories to the test on a dawn-till-breakfast show that soon built up a fanatic following among Washington's thousands of live-alone Government girls. Encouraged, Godfrey began applying the same personal approach to his commercials ("Whew!" he would say after reading some copywriter's purple prose advertising lace undies). Everybody was outraged but his listeners, and when the listeners hurried to buy, sponsors and radiomen quickly calmed down. Godfrey had learned a lesson he has never forgotten: "They don't care what you say on the air as long as it sells."
His growing informality on the air was soon matched by excessive informality off it. Most announcers in the early days were temperamental; some were habitually late to work, and others had trouble with wine and women. Godfrey scored high in all departments. Despite his growing popularity with the listeners, he was finally fired.
Harry Butcher, then manager of the rival CBS station WJSV, was quick to grab him. In the deal, WJSV (now WTOP) got most of Godfrey's morning audience and 80% of his former sponsors. NBC retaliated by bringing down a New York announcer named Don Douglas to buck Arthur. Unreasonably terrified by the threat of big-city competition, Godfrey convinced Butcher that he should stay on the air all night to kill Douglas' first broadcast. Since WJSV closed down at midnight, Godfrey had to broadcast from the transmitter in a swamp near Alexandria, Va., with no other props than a telephone, turntable and some records.
That single all-night show set a pattern that radio is still following. From New York, a lonely girl in the Ritz-Carlton kept phoning him maudlin professions of love. Walter Wirichell was on the phone at 5 a.m., and carried a rave for Godfrey in his column. Just before sunup, Godfrey wished aloud that he had some coffee. About 8,000 Washingtonians got into their cars and drove out with sandwiches and full Thermos bottles.
Godfrey's mail brought him 32 contracts and business proposals, including a certified check for $3,200 from a Manhattan nightclub. Stunned, he went up to New York to ask Winchell's advice. "He was lying in bed being shaved by a barber," Arthur recalls. " 'Boy,' I thought, 'this is real living!'" Winchell recommended that he take the nightclub offer, but Godfrey settled for a network contract with CBS. "I'm eternally grateful to Winchell for discovering me," says Godfrey. "The only thing that Walter forgets is that he dropped me like a hot potato when I flopped."
Back to the Sunsets. The flop was loud and emphatic. When the show he called the "Manhattan Pee-rade" decided to continue without him, Arthur says his final chance on a Chesterfield show "laid a terrible egg."
Fired by both Chesterfield and CBS, Godfrey headed back to Washington. Even there, it seemed his magic had gone. "I had gotten to thinking like a smart-aleck Broadway showman, and people don't want Broadway every day. But little by little, I regained the humility I had lost. I got back to sunsets, fishing, horses. My interest in people returned. The show improved, clients were pleased, and fans began to increase."