The
date was November 4, 1943. Lou Costello was rehearsing at the studios of NBC
with the cast and crew, including Bud Abbott, Mel Blanc, Ken Niles and the
beautiful Lana Turner, when an emissary of NBC walked in and gave Costello the
shocking news that his one-year-old son had drowned at their Van Nuys home. Lou
Costello, Jr., nicknamed "Butch," escaped his playpen, crawled to the
swimming pool and fell in. Costello immediately sped from the studio to his
home while a pulmotor squad worked futiley to bring back a spark of life to the
youngster.
As
Costello later recalled in 1954: “Racing into the yard, [my wife] ran to the
swimming pool and found the child floating face-down in water a foot and
one-half deep. She pulled him from the water and screamed for help.” Neighbors
rushed over when they heard the screams and firefighters and medics worked over
the boy for more than an hour before Dr. Vincent Kovner pronounced him dead.
The baby drowned two days shy of his first birthday.
Driving
home from the studio Costello was in denial, convinced that his son was still
alive, because he was playing with his baby boy only hours prior. He even told
the infant, nicknamed “Butch,” that he would hear his father over the radio
speaker that evening. The comedian arrived at his home just as the firefighters
were leaving, and discovered the news was true.
Meanwhile,
at the studio, producer Martin Gosch and Costello’s partner, Bud Abbott,
started making calls for a substitute. Everyone, cast and crew, understood that
Costello could not bear up under such grief and go through with a slapstick
comedy show. Contact was made with Mickey Rooney, who was on a golf course at
the time. After learning the news Rooney tossed aside the clubs, sped to his
car and raced to the NBC studio, under the impression that the broadcast time
was 5:30 instead of 7:00. He arrived shortly after five and began looking over
the script. Even when Costello arrived at the studio, reportedly 25 minutes
before airtime, Rooney took a chair with other members of the cast and followed
every line in the script, sitting on standby in case Costello needed to be
replaced. (During the afternoon Bob Hope, Jimmy Durante and Red Skelton heard
the sad news and offered to take over for Costello.)
In
the tradition of the theatre, "the show must go on," was deeply
ingrained in Costello through his long years in show business, and most
rationalized that was the motivation running through his mind. Even in his
great grief he must have steeled himself against quitting, as the spirit of the
trouper would call it. It was less than an hour before the Camel sign-in when
Bud Abbott was called to the phone. It was Costello, telling him he would be
there to go through with the show. He arrived at the studio a half-hour later
and went through a final reading of his script. When Ken Niles signed in the
show, Costello was in front of the mike, smoking a cigar and fidgeting with his
script to contain his heartbreak.
None
in the studio audience that overflowed onto the stage was aware of what
Costello was going through. He gave no outward evidence of his great loss,
ad-libbing quips and carrying on in the same old Costello way. The crowd howled
at his gags, but as he read the last line and tossed his script to a WAVE in
the front row, Abbott brought a hush to what had been a bedlam. Lou Costello
broke down with tears moments before the closing commercial and supposedly
rushed off the stage.
Following
the announcer's closing commercial, Bud Abbott stepped up to the mike to
explain to the audience: “Ladies and gentlemen. Now that our program is over
and we have done our best to entertain you, I would like take a moment to pay
tribute to my best friend and to a man who has more courage than I have ever
seen displayed in the theater. Tonight the old expression ‘The show must go on’
was brought home to all of us on this program. More clearly than ever before.
Just a short time before our broadcast started, Lou Costello was told that his
baby, one year old tomorrow, had died. In the face of the greatest tragedy
which can come to any man, Lou Costello went on tonight so that you, the radio
audience, would not be disappointed. There is nothing more that I can say
except that I know you, all of you, [will] join me in expressing our deepest
sympathy to a great trouper.” Ken Niles then signed off with network
identification, 40 seconds overtime.
If
Bud Abbott had not apprised the audience of the tragedy that befell his partner
three hours before broadcast, it is doubtful whether the average radio listener
would have even suspected that there had been anything amiss about the show or
its principals. Costello lost his place and ad-libbed a little more often than
was his habit. What the nationwide audience was not aware was the sobs that
were audible through the audience as the people left the auditorium following a
three-minute silent tribute. Asked if Costello at any time had shown signs of
cracking, Gosch replied to a reporter, “It was the greatest display of courage
I’ve ever seen. Lou took it like the great trouper he is.” At one point in the
script where Costello read, “I feel sad today,” there were dewy eyes on the
stage. He closed it quickly with “I broke up with my girl today.” A less stoic
performer would have asked for other lines.
It
was the second misfortune to overtake that particular broadcast. The day before
the broadcast, Veronica Lake, who had been booked as guest star, had to cancel
on account of illness. Lana Turner was substituted. The actress, unable to
suppress her own grief over Costello’s loss, read her lines woodenly and hardly
above a whisper. In the audience were 25 convalescents from rheumatic fever
with their nurses, brought there from the naval hospital at Corona as special
guests of Lou Costello. He insisted that the party he had planned for them
after the show be carried through, even though he could not attend.
Whether
Costello, under the circumstances, should have appeared on the radio broadcast
is a moot point. The cast went through the entire script but once and there was
no opportunity for a dress rehearsal or final timing. For years a recording of
the November 4, 1943, broadcast has been sought after by fans of Bud Abbott and
Lou Costello, not widely available to collectors for decades. Of recent,
transcription discs were found and that very recording is now making the rounds
among collectors. Some might consider the recording morbid but nothing could be
further from the truth. Only at the close of the broadcast when Bud Abbott
delivers his closing speech does it become apparent that the broadcast was
monumental – now historical.
I
have often said that collecting and listening to old-time radio is only a tip
of the iceberg. Reading up on the history of vintage radio programs can -- many
times -- be more fascinating than the recordings themselves. This particular Abbott
and Costello broadcast is no exception.
Listening
to the recording today I pose a few theories: At the close of the broadcast,
when Bud Abbott steps out to address the audience, you can hear a reaction from
those in attendance during the second sentence... before he even mentions the
death of Costello's little son. I wonder if, when Abbott stepped out to address
the audience, that was the moment Costello broke down and had to walk off the
stage -- not after he concluded his final line. Else, why would the audience
react at that moment? What would they have been reacting over?
Regarding
the reason why Costello wanted to perform during a time of grievance, the
comedian was off the air for nine months as a result of rheumatic fever (hence
why he set up a party after the broadcast for rheumatic fever victims). It may
be possible, because this was the first broadcast of the season and the first
broadcast since he was back to health, that he felt a necessity to commit to
the radio mike. Costello however, many years later, recalled bouncing his
little boy on his knee earlier in the day and telling Butch that he would hear
his father on the radio... and wanted to keep that promise.
