Jim Backus, Radio and Recovery

Network radio allowed performers to be versatile. In television today, could you picture an actor intoning about the latest war news on one show, and chatting with Ambrose the Talking Horse on another? It happened on radio in 1942.

And the actor in question was Jim Backus. Granted, on “This Nation at War” on the Blue Network, he used the moniker James G. Backus. He was plain old Jim Backus on his self-titled comedy/variety show the same year. And as strange as it seems, considering Backus became famous for his funny stuff, the quasi-documentary show stayed on the air longer than the other one.

Today, Backus is known either from his work as animated filmdom’s Mr. Magoo, or as the filthy-rich Thurston Howell III on “Gilligan’s Island.” But he made his name in radio, though not without some struggles, and ones that can’t compare with the ones he went through after Gilligan.

The earliest mention I can find of Backus in radio isn’t on a radio show. It’s in a 1940 print ad for bourbon. Backus is billed merely as “radio announcer” and his home address in Cleveland is listed, making it appear like an endorsement from an ordinary guy. He soon headed to New York and by February 1942, he was stooging on Kay Thompson’s show on CBS. (Note: Please see Sam Irvin’s insight about this in the comment section). ‘42 looked to be his year. On May 26, he landed the narrator role on “This Nation at War” (one story announcing the gig pointed out he had written for Dinah Shore), then on June 18, he got his own show featuring Jeff Alexander and his Ragtime band, vocalist Mary Small, the Eight Balls of Fire chorus, announcer Frank Gallop, regulars Carl Eastman, Eddie O'Shea and Hope Emerson, and the aforementioned Ambrose. Oh, and a young man named Art Carney. It flopped. Big time. The NBC show lasted three weeks and was pulled off the air.

July 7, 1943: Backus landed another starring role, this time in the crime drama “Flashgun Casey” on CBS. For some reason, Backus was replaced by the end of August and the show went on to a long run under the name “Casey, Crime Photographer.”

Backus, in his autobiography Rocks on the Roof, practically laughs about his next failures. Beatrice Kaye got him hired to play her love interest in a comedy/variety show called “Gaslight Gaieties,” sponsored by Teel Dentifrice. It debuted November 11, 1944. The love interest had the upper-crust Eastern seaboard voice that Backus gave to Thurston Howell III. What worked on “Gilligan’s Island” didn’t work for liquid tooth goo. Said Backus, “This job lasted a grand total of three weeks before some obscure vice-president heard the show and decided my new voice had homosexual overtones.” He related how he got a call a week later to be on Milton Berle’s new show; “Let Yourself Go” had changed networks and debuted on NBC on January 3, 1945. But Backus said he never appeared during the 13-week gig because the hammy Berle kept running so long they never got to his part. No matter. By May, the people running Alan Young’s radio show on ABC figured Backus’ snooty-rich character voice would be perfect to put in Young’s rival, and thus Hubert Updyke III was born and went on for a four-year run. One of the writers was a chap named Sherwood Schwartz, who created “Gilligan’s Island” and, well, you can put the pieces together.

By December, Backus was heard on “The Danny Kaye Show” as Mr. Singleton, the sponsor. His radio career was finally moving ahead.

Everything I’ve read suggests Backus was pretty funny when he wasn’t on the air. This syndicated newspaper story from 1947—when Backus was getting a credit at the end of every Alan Young show—reveals he was into puns.

In Hollywood
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
Staff Correspondent.
HOLLYWOOD, Sept. 17.—(NEA)—You’ve never heard the Backus Banter? Probably not. You’ve probably never even heard of Backus — first name Jim.
Jim Backus is a radio comedian who has appeared on as many as 15 radio programs a week, under the names of the characters he creates for specific shows.
He's probably better known as Hubert Updyke, of the Alan Young show, than he is as Jim Backus.
Anyway, Jim has come up with a new parlor game for Hollywood. Here’s a typical story, titled Travelogue or Inside Backus, in Backus Banter fashion:
“Just before we were to set sail, my wife had a Preminger that something would happen, but I assured her that everything would be all right. The ship’s whistle gave three short Janet Blairs and we cast off for unknown waters. That night a storm beset us, and, while I weathered it, Virginia Van Upped twice.
“I gave her a Seymour Nebenzal tablet and she was soon calm. The wind was to the Louis Hayward, and sent us off course somewhat to the south. The following morning, the lookout sighted something off the starboard bow, and the next thing we knew the first mate had Harpoed a Marx. Presently we sailed into enchanting Turhan Bey and anchored for the right.
“At dawn the next morning, the natives awoke us with cries of Za-Nuck, Za-Nuck, and we cast off in our dinghies. I was brought to the native chieftain who was wearing a Deanna Durban. He placed a native conveyance at my disposal, a Deborah Kerr, with which we went into the interior, molested only by British soldiers armed with Martha Vickers. At a native market, I saw a pocketbook that I wanted for my wife, and since the exchange was down I purchased it for three Hume Cronyns.
“I watched the native sport, which is racing Audrey Totters and watched the native women make sweaters from the wool of Lanaturners. Finally, I returned to the ship. Imagine my Cyd Charisse when I noted I had lost my wallet. Some; unfriendly bartender must have slipped me a Mickey Rooney.
“With this note, we slipped out of the lagoon of Turhan Bey, never more to return. The drowsy natives were softly humming a native chant, titled Helmut Dantine, which means ‘There’s gum on your hat’.”
That’s the way it goes, says Backus.
But it’s easy to stuff your ears with Joe Cotten.

Radio careers morphed into television careers (for some), and we’ve discussed Backus on television in the pre-Gilligan days HERE. His post-Gilligan career was touched with sadness, coupled with hope.

Vernon Scott of United Press International interviewed Backus several times over his career. You can sense some discomfort in this story, reported on June 8, 1984.

Comedian Jim Backus recovering from mysterious six-year illness
By Vernon Scott
United Press International
HOLLYWOOD – Jim Backus, the voice of cartoon character “Mr. Magoo,” is fighting for a new life after six years of paralyzing illness, a heart-breaking, career-destroying case of extreme hypochondria.
A series of psychosomatic illnesses made him almost a total recluse, convinced that he was suffering from Parkinson’s disease.
He appeared to have all the symptoms. A phalanx of doctors told him the disease could not be diagnosed, only evaluated.
Backus’ mind began playing tricks on him. He found himself incapable of leaving his luxurious Bel Air home for months at a time, refusing to see old friends, afraid to go to restaurants, terrified of working in front of a camera.
A former scratch golfer, he refused to touch a club. The author, with his wife Henny, of two uproarious books — “Rocks on the Roof” and “What Are You Doing After the Orgy?” — he could not force himself to write.
He became paranoid, convinced he was doomed. The more he was examined by doctors, psychiatrists, hypnotists and a scattering of frauds, the worse he grew, sure he was a goner.
His half-dozen years of nightmare challenges anything in Kafka.
Backus, again with the help of Henny, has set the whole eerie story down with frightening and funny details in his new book, “Backus Strikes Back.”
The other day Backus sat in a chair in his home, a frightened, insecure man, contrasting tragically with the raucous, extroverted Backus of old, needing reassurances he wasn’t, indeed, in the clutches of a life-threatening disease. His eyes pleaded for optimistic opinions of his appearance.
As a matter of fact, he did look healthy, perhaps even robust except for the haunted shadows in his eyes.
“Part of Jim’s trouble is the misevaluation of a disease that is hard to diagnose — Parkinson’s,” Henny said as Jim nodded agreement.
“Jim was so frightened it caused him to suffer a complete crackup. He’s only 80 percent well right now and doing very well, but it has been a very rough go. Our book isn’t sad. It’s funny and it has an hilarious foreward [sic] by George Burns.”
Jim, his voice as strong and raspy as it ever was, said, “My problem was a long time in coming. I was working terribly hard. I did 13,000 radio commercials. It’s in the Guinness Book of Records.
“I was going full barrel and I was suffering the classic overwork symptoms of dizziness, light-headedness, irascibility, the usual. Then I started to faint and fall down a lot. They put me in the hospital and gave me the works and evaluated it as Parkinson’s.”
“Jim’s an actor and the minute they said Parkinson’s he went right into the act because he knew a lot about the disease,” Henny said. “He’s been a life-long hypochondriac. He was psychologically duplicating what he heard about the disease.”
Henny turned to Jim and said, “Once you learned we suspected you had Parkinson's you went out and read everything on the disease and convinced yourself you had it.”
“Psychosomatic is an over-used word,” Jim countered. “To me the physical problems were very real and still are. There is still no accurate evaluation of what I have.”
“Of course, he didn’t have Parkinson’s,” Henny said. “He had perfectly normal days. What the doctors did find is a basic 1 percent basal ganglion, which is a mild disease neither of us understands.
“What he really suffers from is what 15 percent of this country suffers—total panic, stress, anxiety. And I hope the book helps people as fans have helped us with their letters of encouragement.”
“I haven’t been out of this house for almost six years,” Backus said. “I was terrified when the doorbell rang. I’d run and hide. I’m trying to get over acute panic right now as we talk.”
Backus grinned engagingly and popped a few wisecracks exactly as he did a decade ago. But when he stood up, his posture was that of an invalid. His steps were the shuffle of an old man—which Backus is not.
“Your mind can do this to you,” Backus said. “You know it’s doing it to you but you’re powerless to stop it. I’ve tried. I’ve gone to the best shrinks, yoga, hypnosis and even had a layer-on of hands who set fire to my hair.
“It’s a matter of mind over matter and I’m determined to get well. The book was therapy and inspired by Norman Cousins’ book, ‘Anatomy of an Illness.’ In the final analysis the only way out is laughter.”

Backus evidently overcame his fear. He went out and plugged his book, even making an appearance on ‘The Today Show.’ Psychosomatic or not, anyone who saw Backus on TV the last few years of his life could see he didn’t look well. He died of pneumonia on July 3, 1989. At a memorial service, Milton Berle recalled how he visited Backus in hospital for two hours and, as he turned to leave, said “I hope you get better.” Backus’ response: “You, too.”

Even Uncle Miltie couldn’t top that exit line. Jim Backus was funny to the end.