Previously in the book: Midwesterner Hal Neely tore up the big band circuit, joined the Army during World II, got his degrees from USC and launched himself into the record industry where he met loud and crude producer Syd Nathan.

Shortly after their initial meeting, Nathan hired Neely to update King’s dilapidated factory. The first phase was changing from the 78 RPM format to 45 RPM. The old format was still popular in the hillbilly and R&B markets because many of the customers still used hand-cranked players which only used 78 RPM. However, Nathan wanted to convert to the new format not only because it would give him additional sales but would also give him access to placing hits on the pop charts.10
Forty-fives were becoming the state-of-the-art in sound fidelity and the preferred choice of those buyers who had money to spend on them. Hence, music released on 45 RPMs had a better chance to place on the popular charts.
Evolving technology notwithstanding, there was the ultimate financial decision to move to the smaller 45s. RCA Victor introduced 45s on seven-inch vinyl discs which could hold as much sound as the 12-inch 78 RPMs.11 Less material—lower cost, another factor that the always penurious Nathan surely considered.
In December of 1950 King Records produced “Sixty Minute Man” by Billy Ward and His Dominoes. It became the first crossover hit from the rhythm and blues charts to Billboard’s pop charts. What ensured the success of “Sixty Minute Man” was the outrage spawned by the suggestive lyrics. Many radio stations around the country refused to play it, making it the biggest R&B hit of 1951 and probably the biggest R&B record of the first half of the 1950s. It sold mostly to white teenagers who were in their Rebel Without a Cause phase. It also reached No. 17 on the pop charts. Critics said “Sixty Minute Man” went too far with its lyrics about a “mighty, mighty man” known as “lovin’ Dan” with “kissing,” “teasing,” “squeezing,” and “blowing my top.”12
This success actually occurred on the Federal label which King had just created to act as a subsidiary for mostly R&B, jazz, and blues artists discovered by King’s newest artist representative, Ralph Bass. Bass originally worked for Black and White Records during the time of Jack McVea’s hit “Open the Door, Richard.”
Bass, born in 1911 in New York, was a white man of mixed Jewish-Italian ancestry who said he blurred the ethnic line with ease.13 He described himself as a “jive-talking wheeler-dealer, half artist and half con artist.” He was the key operator at Federal Records from 1951 to 1958. Besides Black and White Records, Bass worked with other labels such as Bop, Portrait and Savoy.
“Look, babe, I am in black music,” Bass said in a 1984 interview. “Being white, I had a lot to overcome to gain the confidence of blacks so they would accept me as being for real, not just a jive cat who was gonna take advantage of them. I had to learn the language all over again. I didn’t really become a different person, but I acclimated myself to what was happening with blacks in the South.”
Bass was introduced to Syd Nathan by Ben Bart of the booking agency Universal Attractions.
“I wanted to quit Savoy so bad, but I couldn’t afford to,” Bass said. Nathan offered him a generous financial deal, so Bass moved to Cincinnati. “I was going from the frying pan into the fire.”14
After the success of the Dominoes, Bass acquired Hank Ballard and the Midnighters, a Detroit vocal group discovered by King’s Detroit branch manager, Jim Wilson. Bass and his group recorded several songs in 1952 and 1953 which received mediocre reception. However, in 1954, within days of release “Work with Me, Annie” went to No. 1 on Billboard’s R&B chart, mostly because, like “Sixty Minute Man,” it had so-called “dirty leerics.”15
“Annie, please don’t cheat
Give me all my meat
Oh, ooooooh, weeeee
So good to me
Work with me, Annie…”16
Ballard and the Midnighters followed up their success within three months with “Annie Had A Baby.”17
“Now I know, and it’s understood
That’s what happens when the gettin’ gets good
Annie had a baby…”18
King followed up these hits with other songs with sexual innuendo, such as “Keep On Churnin’” by Wynonie Harris, “Big Ten Inch Record” by Bullmoose Jackson and “My Ding-a-ling” by Dave Bartholomew. Eventually King compiled all the records together in one album called “Risky Blues.” Despite the financial success of these records, King came under attack in an editorial called “A Warning to the Music Business” in none other than Billboard Magazine.19
“What are we talking about? We’re talking about rock ‘n roll, about ‘hug’ and ‘squeeze’ and kindred euphemisms which are attempting a total breakdown of all reticence about sex. In the past such material was common enough but restricted to special places and out-and-out barrelhouses. Today’s ‘leerics’ are offered as standard popular music for general consumption by teenagers. Our teenagers are already setting something of a record in delinquency with this raw material idiom to smell up the environment still more.”20
The Billboard editorial unleashed a torrent of other criticisms, such as comments by Los Angeles disc jockey Peter Potter who said, “All rhythm and blues records are dirty and as bad for kids as dope.”
Another disc jockey, Zeke Manners, opined that Potter’s comments were extreme but did discount the modern music as a fad. “The R&B following is limited to teenagers, white as well as colored, and to listeners that are musically immature. I don’t even say that it does any harm, but it is merely a passing craze with the kids of all races. And what do kids buy? Nothing but rhythm and blues records.”21
In reaction to the editorial and comments by disc jockeys, John S. Kelly, vice president and general manager of King, submitted the following letter for the next issue of Billboard Magazine:
We know that we are not without guilt in having in the past allowed some double-entendre tunes to reach the public, but I can assure you there will be no repetition. Several months ago we took definite steps to eliminate the possibility of objectionable material being recorded by or for our A&R (artist and repetoire) men on our three labels, King, Federal and Deluxe, by writing to them as follows:
‘We do not need dirt or smut to write a song. Imagination, newness of ideas, hard work to generate original new sounds, lyrics, and tunes will do the job all the time. This is just a reminder that we will never relent again and allow any off-color lyrics. If any of you record such material you, yourself, will have to pay for that part of the session that will be thrown out because of improper lyrics. Our policy is definitely established and that policy is to reject a tune if, in our opinion, it is unsuitable for the teenage group, who today are heavy buyers of R&B, as well as pop releases. We know that at times there will be a difference of opinion as to whether a given word or phrase measures up to our good intentions, but I believe you will agree that we in this company are sincerely trying to abolish the objectionable songs.’”22
Ralph Bass, in a 1994 interview, said he never recalled receiving a copy of the memo. “I was in Los Angeles, living there again and running the branch office. All of a sudden, white kids were buying black records for the first time.” A television interviewer wanted Bass to come on his show to talk to a politician, a woman with her 11-year-old daughter and the head of the PTA. “So I got on the show and I said, ‘Look, when it comes to something where white people don’t understand the language used, they immediately think in the worst terms. They don’t think in humorous terms, they just think it’s nasty.” Bass asked the little girl if she liked “Work With Me Annie” and she said yes because she “liked the beat.”23
King’s Detroit branch manager Jim Wilson, who had brought Hank Ballard to King’s attention in the first place, said he “believed that (dirty lyric) music helped younger whites to pass up some of the prejudices held by their parents.”24
Music historians pointed out King vice president Kelley was clever in his statement to leave an escape clause for the company which would excuse an occasional slip-up. His exemptions left the door open for King to release the often-controversial lyrics of hits by James Brown who was just about to hit the national scene. 25

Bibliography

10 Powers, Brian, History of King Records, Public Library of Cincinnati.
11 History of the Gramophone Record, http://www.45-rpm.org.uk/history.html.
12 Powers, Brian, History of King Records, Public Library of Cincinnati.
13 King of the Queen City, 87.
14 Ibid., 88.
15 Powers, Brian, History of King Records, Public Library of Cincinnati.
16 King of the Queen City, 92-93.
17 Powers, Brian, History of King Records, Public Library of Cincinnati.
18 Ibid.
19 Ibid.
20 Ibid.
21 Ibid.
22 Ibid.
23 King of the Queen City, 91.
24 Brian Powers.
25 Ibid.

(Author’s note: This chapter contains my research. Chapters in italics are in Mr. Neely’s own words and may not conform to what I found.)

Hal Neely was a tall man. According to his Army enlistment records from Nov. 11, 1942, he was six foot eight and weighed 198 pounds. No wonder the basketball fans in his hometown of Lyons, Nebraska were upset when he decided to forego playing hoops his senior year in high school for trumpet lessons in Omaha. He had completed one year of studies at University of Southern California while making a nice living as a society band leader playing the Statler and Hilton chains up and down the West Coast.1
His enlistment was for the duration of the war plus six months subject to the discretion of the President. After the war he returned to Los Angeles and put out the word he was back in town and ready to make music.
Jack McVea heard that Hal Neely was back in Hollywood, and, wasting no time, he called Neely to play trumpet at a recording session of his band for Black and White Records in October of 1946.
McVea was a well-known musician with many bands in the Los Angeles area during the 1930s and 40s, performing with Lionel Hampton, Nat King Cole, Les Paul, Dizzy Gillespie, and Charlie Parker.2 He was the baritone saxophonist on Hampton’s 1941 recording of “Flying Home,” which has been noted as the first rhythm and blues hit. By 1946 McVea led his own group and recorded for Black and White Records. Black and White Records originally operated in Brooklyn, New York, in 1943; but, Paul Reiner and his wife Lillian bought it and moved operations to the West Coast, specializing in recordings of black musicians, what was called at that time “race music.”
The October 1946 session took place at Radio Recorders studio on Santa Monica Boulevard, which was acknowledged to be the best recording facility in Los Angeles.3 Among the artists who recorded there were Charlie Parker, Jimmie Rodgers, and Louis Armstrong. During this same time Radio Recorders recorded many radio shows for delayed broadcast.
Neely said in his memoirs that Black and White Records employee Ralph Bass was supposed to produce the session but Bass was not there. However, Bass was credited as producer.4 Neely claimed Reiner had picked out the song to be recorded, and only four minutes were left in the session for the last song. He said he suggested replacing the last song with a number he had heard the group perform in nightclubs called “Open the Door, Richard.” Since they had such a short period of time, Neely said he told the musicians they had one take, as they were familiar with the piece, one take should be enough, and he would use a fade out at the end of music.
The original recording of this song was the first time a fadeout was used on a commercial record.5 All other records up to this time had used a “cold” or final note. This comment independently corroborates Neely’s claim that he was the actual producer of the record. The McVea recording made Billboard’s bestseller chart in February of 1947, reaching the No. 7 spot.
“Open the Door, Richard” made the charts in 1947 by other artists including Count Basie, the Three Flames, Louis Jordan, the Charioteers, the Pied Pipers, and Dusty Fletcher, who originated the song as a vaudeville routine in black theaters. It was not unusual for a song to be recorded in many different versions in the late 1940s because fans cared about the song more than the performer.6 Writing credit was divided among Fletcher and John Mason for words and McVea and Don Howell for music. Howell, incidentally, was entirely made up, so that an unnamed (and fabricated) businessman could take some of the royalties away from McVea.
McVea recorded several other songs but none were as popular as “Open the Door, Richard.” In 1962 he began playing clarinet in a strolling Dixieland band at Disneyland where he stayed until he retired in the early 1990s.
Neely’s next producing project in 1946 was with Slim Gaillard of Capitol Records. Gaillard was also a well-known performer during the 1930s and 40s in swing music, though never as famous as Duke Ellington, Count Basie or Cab Calloway. Gaillard was mostly celebrated for creating his own musical language called “Vout-O-Reenie.”7 From this Neely session came Gaillard’s biggest hit “Cement Mixer Putti Putti.”
“We were recording on Sunset Boulevard, across from a television studio. After we did three sides, the A & R (artist and repetoire) man sent us out for some air. I was glad to get out because I didn’t have a fourth song and figured we’d improvise something,” Gaillard said. “Just outside the studio, they were repairing the street and one of those cement machines was going putt-putt-putt. When we were back in the studio the A & R man ask for the fourth side. I said Cement Mixer Putti Putti. Everybody in the place broke up. I started to sing “putt-ti, putti-hootie, putti-vooty, macaroonie, that’s all.”
Once again Neely did not receive record credit for the recording, but one might assume he was the A & R man to which Gaillard referred in his statement. Gaillard continued a successful career with his own small ensemble and on rare occasions with larger groups. At the time of his death in 1991 he was performing in London, England.
Neely also said in his memoirs he produced a record for a “Little Esher;” however, the only performer from that time period was “Little Esther Phillips.” Her first record came out in 1950, which is slightly out of the timeframe mentioned by Neely. Herman Lubinsky signed Little Esther who grew up in Galveston, Texas, to a contract with Savoy Records of Newark, New Jersey, in 1949. In January of 1950 the California Superior Court ruled Esther’s mother to be her legal guardian, upholding her new contract with King Records. Perhaps Neely produced one of her records during her time at King. Esther enjoyed a 25-year career with honors from Rolling Stone and Ebony magazines and receiving an Image Award from the NAACP in 1975.8
Among his other jobs he took to finance his college education, Neely produced a NBC radio religious program. His announcer was Oral Roberts who went on to dominate the evangelical air ways and establish a self-named Tulsa, Oklahoma, university. Neely also wrote scripts for the program. In his future career as a record producer Neely would write liner notes for albums. One of his scripted ideas for Roberts was to tell his listeners to put their hands on the radio during a prayer.9 Listeners would feel an actual vibration coming through the speakers because Roberts was blessed with a very deep voice which created the pulsation.10
Neely also originated the line, “The family that prays together stays together.” He also came up with the product of Jordan River water in a bottle for $2-$4. The water came out of Neely’s own tap at home. Who knows how many relatives going through the personal effects of deceased loved ones would find a tiny bottle of water glued on a cardboard picture of the Jordan River and would wonder what it was and why their family member would even buy it.11 He considered but rejected the merchandising concept of “healing cloths,” which were bits of 2 x 4 inch strips of material which were placed on any part of the body that hurt, and a miracle was supposed to occur. His short radio stint gave him a good education on how payola worked—a tactic he used when he was promoting James Brown and other acts.12
During his studies at the University of Southern California, Neely met nuclear physicist Albert Einstein when he was chosen to participate in a series of lectures conducted during a three to six week period. While the students sat around the professor for informal chats, Einstein once said, “When I am dying,” and he paused to point up, “I hope I see friends.”
Neely said Einstein asked him if he believed in God to which Neely replied that he did not know, but he thought he believed there might be a God.
“I don’t care what you believe, Hal,” Einstein replied, “as long as you believe in something.”13
Neely also became involved with the development of the tape recorder in the United States by Bing Crosby and the company Ampex, according to Roland Hanneman who had spent many hours listening to Neely’s stories about his early career.
Neely first met Crosby during his pre-war days as a band performer in Hollywood. They became friends and often played golf together. Neely did the first pressing of a stereo recording which was classical music. Because no one in the record industry understood stereo very well, records were released with Mono on one side and stereo on the other, which canceled the sound through any compatibility of musical waiver lines.
Fritz Pfleumer invented the tape recorder in the late 1920s in Germany where it was marketed under the name “Magnetophon.” He used paper strips that he coated with carbonyl iron particles suspended in lacquer. In 1938 German radio stations replaced relatively high-quality wax and lacquer discs with the magnetic tapes adding flexibility to broadcasting. During World War II the story began circulating that the Nazis ordered engineers to create the tape recording system so that Allies would not be able to locate where live-sounding speeches by Adolph Hitler were being made. Reality was that the technology had been developed more than ten years before and that Hitler preferred using the tape recordings so his live-sounding speeches could be aired without interrupting his odd sleeping habits.
Major John Mullin of the U.S. Army Signal Corps discovered the Magnetophons at the Radio Frankfurt substation at Bad Nauheim in 1945 and sent them back to his home in San Francisco broken down into 35 small packages. After he left the military he joined with audio engineer W.A. Palmer to reassemble them in a new configuration to create an American version of the machines. The first musical artist to be recorded on Mullins’ redesigned recorder was Merv Griffin in 1946. By 1947 Mullin and Palmer had created the small company of Ampex and introduced the system to Bing Crosby who used it for his ABC-sponsored radio program “Philco Radio Time.” The broadcast was such a success that Crosby talked ABC into buying all their tape recorders from Ampex and invested $50,000 of his own money in the small company.14
Neely made a major step crossing over into the business side of the music industry when he joined Allied Record Company after graduating from the University of Southern California in 1948. The president of Allied was Dakin K. Broadhead, a distinguished businessman who was a member of the War Food Administration during World War II and later served as an assistant to Secretary of Agriculture Ezra Taft Benson from 1953-55. Broadhead began his career as a manager with Safeway stores. He was president and principal owner of Allied Records from 1945 to 1986.15
Allied was the largest independent record pressing plant in Los Angeles.16 In the 1940s customers were limited to the manufacture of just 200 records a week in accordance with rationing policies. Because Allied wanted to keep its record-pressing methods secret, no one was allowed inside the plant. Allied did not have any advanced technology, and its method was comparatively simple, being the reproduction of a surface, similar to that used to emboss leather.17
Neely was, of course, introduced to this new world of record manufacturing after college graduation. The exposure to the technology served him well when he met the volatile president of King Records, Syd Nathan, in 1949.
Chapter Nine Footnotes
1Billboard Magazine, May 5, 1958.
2de Heer, Dik, rockabilly.nl
3radio_recorders historic.php
4Talevski, Nick, Knocking on Heaven’s Door: Rock Obituaries, Omnibus Press, London, 2010, 22.
5Snow, Arnold, Honkers and Shouters, The Golden Years of Rhythm and Blues, MacMillan Publishing Company, New York City, 1986, 226-227.
6 Weisbard, Eric, This Is Pop, In Search of the Elusive at Experience Music Project, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass.,2004, 75-89.
7Purl Roadhouse 1940s Music and Dance, yuku.com
8Home.earthlink.net/~jaymar41/Lesther.html.200.
9 Roland Hanneman Interview.
10Buddy Winsett Interview, July 2012.
11Janet Cowling Interview.
12 Roland Hanneman Interview.
13Buddy Winsett Interview, July 2012.
14Hamman, Peter, The Birth of Tape Recording in the U.S., historyofrecording.com.
15findagrave.com
16Broven, John, Record Makers and Breakers, Voices of the Independent Rock ‘n’ Roll Pioneers, University of Illinois Press, Urbana and Chicago, 2010, 37.
17 Ibid.
(This is the first of the chapters I researched and wrote to which I am adding footnotes. Instead of the elevated number I am using italics. I am covering the same time period Neely wrote about in his memoirs but with slightly different results.)

Previously in the book: After traveling with dance bands as a trumpeter and serving in World War II, Hal Neely graduated from University of Southern California with three degrees. He began working for Allied Recording Company.
What fascinated me was the matrix department and how the sound on the original studio master grooves was transferred to copper master ridges, then to eight nickel plated stamper (ridges) for insertion into a big press machine with the A side on top and the B side on the bottom. The hot pressed record was taken out by the female press operator, crammed, and placed on a spindle to cool. Then it went to inspection and insertion into the paper sleeve. A good operator–on the bonus system–could produce 600 to 800 pressings per shift.
The biggest problem was the small imperfections that would appear in the grooves of the “mother” creating tics and pops. Matrix would have to produce a new “mother.” The lab had a 1000 power scope. I could look at the groove– knowing music and frequencies– and figure out a system wherein I could repair many of the clicks and pops on the “mother” using Mary’s orangewood fingernail sticks. The process was revolutionary, saving time and processing costs.
Mr. O’Hagan was in the lab several times and said, “Hello and how are you doing?”
I waited and learned. One Thursday morning I got a call from Mr. O’Hagan.
“Hal, go home, put on a suit and meet me at my office at Allied as soon as you can.”
I did. We went in his car, a big new Cadillac, and all he told me was, “We have a problem” and no more. We drove to the office of the Kirk Bennett advertising agency which represented Reverend Fuller’s “Gospel Hour,” the Sunday morning broadcast on ABC. It was one of Allied’s best accounts.
Radio Recorders picked the “live” ABC broadcast and transferred it on line and cut a 16-inch transcription master and sent it to Allied for rush processing-pressing-shipping to radio stations around the world on Wednesday for a one-week delay of the broadcast. It was the largest, most popular religious program on the air at that time.
We walked into the Bennett agency’s board room. Seated around the huge desk were twelve stern-faced men all dressed in black suits– always a council of twelve.
Mr. O’Hagan stood and said, “I am late for my flight to Washington. This is Mr. Hal Neely, our sales manager. He will discuss your problem.” And he was out the door.
The Sunday “show master” from Radio Recorders had become contaminated in Allied’s plating solution, and we had to start over. We had lost some time. I had heard about the problem, had some knowledge of what had happened.
“Gentlemen, I don’t have all the facts, but I’ll go back to the plant and be back here in ASAP.”
A problem: my car was at Allied. Pauline, Mr. Bennett’s assistant, offered to take me to the plant, wait with me and bring me back.
Allied had been able to ship most of the overseas transcriptions on late Wednesday but had to hold a few which were shipped Thursday morning. There was still a good chance they would arrive on schedule. I reminded the meeting that there was no play date on the transcriptions. The stations at the worst could replay an old file broadcast. My explanation was accepted. It never happened again.
Pauline had a whisper from Mr. O’Hagan before he left.
“Take Hal back to Allied after the meeting.”
When I walked in, Mr. O’Hagan’s secretary greeted me and said, “This is your new office, Mr. Neely.” I met my sales department staff, Mildred Hemphill and Dee Beswick.
When Mr. O’Hagan got back from Washington he said, “Good job, Hal. Now I suggest you familiarize yourself with all our customers and when you think you are ready, hit the road and visit some of them.”
I hit the road the next week. I drove my own new car– had worked out a schedule with Mildred. The plan was to work my way down into Texas, up to Nashville, then on to Cincinnati. We would decide what/where next from there. I was to call Mildred every few days to see if she had a message for me.
Mildred and I worked out the first trip to visit clients and get acquainted in Tucson, El Paso, San Antonio, Laredo, McAllen, Brownsville, Houston, Dallas, Nashville and Cincinnati. I was on my own. Old and new business. In San Antonio I checked in at the Hotel San Antonio to find a telegram from Jim O’Hagan: “Stop eating in hamburger joints and sleeping in fleabag motels.” Nuff said. From then on I went first class.
The southern trip was excellent. The clients were all happy to meet someone from Allied. No big problems. I was alone, would spend time during the day with clients, drive to the next town at night and check into some good small hotel or motel and out early the next morning. I did well and enjoyed my job. In Pharr, Texas, I got to see and say hello to an old Lyons neighbor, the Youngs, who had watched me grow up.
Nashville was where the Grand Ole Opry was founded in 1925 and was on the radio live every Saturday night. I knew some of the artists from my band days in Hollywood– several were old friends now living in Nashville. In the music business you had a lot of friends when working together, then you did not see each other for years but stayed friendly. I went to Tootsie’s Bar in the alley behind the Grand Ole Opry that Saturday night.
One of Allied’s biggest and best customers was the ZIV/WORLD Company. It was the production office for “I Led Three Lives” and “The Cisco Kid” radio and television shows, and their “WORLD Transcription Library” was based in Cincinnati.
I checked into the Gibson Hotel and went out to ZIV/WORLD on a courtesy call and to meet their operational people. Syd Nathan and his King Records Group, which was the No. 1 rhythm and blues label in the country, was only a few blocks from ZIV in the little town of Norwalk, a suburb of Cincinnati. King had its plant studio etc. all in one location and a group of four connected buildings: a complete operation. When Syd needed additional pressings to meet King’s sales he pressed in a plant in Hollywood, one in New Jersey– not Allied. I wanted some of his business.
I drove to King’s operations. Its water cooling tower, a big garbage bin, a small house and two cars were in the parking lot. A beat-up old car and a new big Buick. Strange. I went to the first door which opened into the boiler room/the pressing plant with about 50 presses, all idle. No one around. I found a small door marked office with a narrow flight of stairs. I went up, went through a door on the left into his set of offices. No one there. Inside a private office I saw a fat old guy with thick-lensed glasses sitting behind a half oval desk shaped like a 45 record. He was chomping down on a big fat cigar.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You don’t know me,” I replied. “I’m Hal Neely, sales manager for Allied Record Manufacturing Company.” I handed him my card.
“I’ve heard of you. Sit your ass down.”
“I see you are down.”
Nathan only grunted. “Think you might be able to help us?”
“I don’t know, but I could try.”
I went down into the matrix department where all three modal parts were made (master, mother, stamper in a special chemical solution bath) by an old guy named Walter who always had a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. I guessed the problem. I had seen it before at Allied with the Reverend Fuller’s Gospel Hour. The cigarette ash had dropped into the bath and contaminated it. That tank would have to be drained, cleaned out, and a new solution constructed. Not hard but it had to be done before any new metal parts could be made. I met with Walker and Ray Sipe, the pressroom manager, and then went up to talk to Syd. This just might be the “door” to my getting some of his pressing business.
After we discussed the problem, Syd said, “Hal, can’t you stay a day or so to help me?”
“I’m sorry, Syd, but I’m scheduled out tomorrow for New York.” It was a little fabrication since I wanted first to go see my brother Sam and his wife Harriet who lived in Middletown, a few miles north of Cincinnati. We talked some more.
“Come out to the house. Zella will fix us some supper, and you can stay tonight in our guest bedroom.”
Unbeknownst to me, Syd had sent Bernie Pearlman and Bob Ellis, his two “leg” men, down to the Gibson Hotel. They checked me out, picked up my car and drove everything out to King. We got to Syd’s house, a huge four-bedroom house with a pool/dressing room/toilet/big garage, and I met Zella Bridges. She and Syd were not married, but both had been married before. Zella had a daughter Beverly, and Syd a son Nat, both living with them, each in their own bedroom. Nat unloaded my stuff from Syd’s car and put it all in the back guest bedroom which from that day on was “Hal’s room.”
Syd spent most of his time in a huge room/office/den off the kitchen. The large living room and formal dining room had sliding glass doors opening out to the pool area. In the basement was a large bar and party room, storage, and laundry facilities. The house was in the affluent Jewish section in northern Cincinnati. He spent many of his evenings at the downtown Jewish Club. Syd loved the Cincinnati Reds baseball team. I stayed all week. We made the deal. Allied would press all of King’s extra records when they needed them. I would help him—he would help me. Mr. Broadhead agreed. Good deal for both of us. Syd, Zella and the kids became very close to me. That was another “beginning for me.” I was in Cincinnati at least once a month. I prevailed on Syd and Zella to get married. I stood up for Syd at the wedding ceremony. They adopted Beverly and Nat. Syd Nathan was like a surrogate father to me from 1949 until he died in 1968. He became another of my personal mentors and inspirations alongside Lawrence Welk and Count Basie. Zella Bridges Nathan became like the sister I never had.
From Cincinnati I went on into New York. Syd owned a four-story brownstone on 54th Street off Broadway. The ground floor was the King Manhattan branch. Its New York office and one-room bedroom were on the second floor. I could stay there if I wished. I called Jim O’Hagan, and we decided that I had been on the road long enough. It was time to come home. I drove back by way of St. Louis, Kansas City, Denver, and Las Vegas.
After I returned to Los Angeles, Mary and I drove to Northern California. Two of Allied’s clients were in San Francisco: Tommy Tong’s Chinese Record Company and the John Wolfe Studios, which was the first magnetic tape recording studio in America.
Mr. Tong’s wife was the sister of Chiang Kai-shek. Mr. Tong was mayor of Chinatown. They were both American citizens, highly recognized for their contributions as Americans. Mr. Tong made his records on old 78 RPM shellac, easily breakable. Both the local Chinese and those in China would only buy one record at a time and order again when it was broken. Mary and I were guests at the Tongs’ home for dinner and at the Chinese Opera, an all-night affair. They were nice people. Mary and I stayed at Mark Hopkins Hotel.
Much has been written in history of Adolf Hitler’s personal messages to the German people which were a “closely guarded top-secret.” They had been recorded on the first/only magnetic tape recorder which ended up in the John Wolfe Frisco studio. Wolfe’s partner, an American Army officer in Germany, was court-martialed for shipping the machine in parts to his mother from Germany without declaring the same to the U.S. Army. Yet this machine—Hitler’s purloined magnetic tape recorder, reassembled in Wolfe’s studio–was the prototype for Ampex and others to follow.

(Author’s note: Italicized text indicates material is Hal Neely’s own memoirs and reflect his recollection of events.)

I was recalled to Calcutta. I would be in command to assemble 28 Army Air Corps musicians to serve as the headquarters military band for parade and reviews. We would be stationed at the Bengal Air Base a few miles north of downtown Calcutta. From this group I built a 16-piece “swing” dance/show band to back USO performers from the states playing our bases. I used some WAC singers, a comic, and Anglo-Indian girl dancers. I would act as the show’s master of ceremonies. At least one Saturday night each month the band would play at the Calcutta Air Corps officer’s club. Officers were allocated one bottle of booze per month which usually was put in the officer’s club.
In Calcutta, although I had regular quarters at Bengal, I was assigned, on a permanent basis, a room at the officers club in a large Calcutta hotel that had been taken over by the Americans. I had my own jeep and traveled back and forth on a regular basis between Bengal and downtown. It was good and happy duty. I made a lot of friends.
Another key area for us was our base at Yanshapore which was populated by “old English.” The parents of a young English girl singer with my show band lived there. We did two shows, and I stayed with her parents. The second night after the show the band bus and equipment left for Calcutta. I left late, alone, in my jeep. A tiger paced my jeep on a hill above me until I ran into an Indian demonstration in a small village. The road was blocked so I drove into an empty warehouse shed, closed the door, and sat there all night with my 45 ready. At sunrise, all was calm so I hit the road back to Calcutta.
We worked shows on a regular basis which took me into most areas of Eastern/Southern India. I got a special assignment to Bowanii Junction as a W-2 observer under the cover of investigating the area for a future show. Headquarters had information that Mr. Gandhi had called for an Indian demonstration there against the British railway system, which was operated with/by Anglo-Indians. I went in by jeep with a driver. There were thousands of Indians sitting on the railway tracks. The train came to a halt.
I watched as the English officer in charge of the training ordered his Anglo/Indian engineer to proceed through the crowd. The engineer refused. Mr. Gandhi was making his first “non-violent statement”. I returned to Calcutta and made my report.
All India was in famine and a cholera epidemic raged. People would lie down and die in the streets. Many of our troops suffered bad dysentery from drinking the water. I never drank the local water and always took my pill each day. My next D-2 undercover assignment was on May 15, 1945. The Indian province of Kashmir was on the Afghanistan border. It was beautiful with several lakes and populated by English families on “holiday”. I would join a British officer group, go through the Khyber Pass into Kabul, where we would join up with a convoy of Russian trucks headed south with grain, rice, etc. India was in famine. The Russians would exchange the grains with us for animals and weapons. The road stayed open all through the war.
The Burma Road from Chabua Assam, to Michinaw was now open. I was assigned to take the show on the Burma Road. We traveled in caravan with flatbed trailers for our stage. Gear, tents etc., in a bus. We headed down the road. Whenever we encountered a “working road crew” we stopped to put on an impromptu show. We did this all the way to Michinaw, stopping only at night with some crew to bed down. We played several shows in Michinaw. A C-47 flew us to our air base in Chintu, China, to do a show. Back to Calcutta.
On New Year’s Eve 1945 we put on a show at the Bengal Air Base in the huge B-36 hangar. It would be the biggest service officer party ever. I would open the evening with my band and play a 30-minute set, then the Navy Band would play a set. We would alternate sets all night, then for midnight I would produce and MC a big “show gala.”
The shindig started with a superb dinner and dancing. My band opened playing “swing.” Nobody danced. Then Navy Band came on. It was a better swing band than mine. Nobody danced. It was my second set. Something had to be done to get these people dancing. My guys were all good pros, so I decided we would play a set of old “Mickey Mouse sweet band ballroom dance songs.” All I needed was my trumpet and a rhythm section and the band would join in. The dance floor filled up. That Navy Band came back on playing “swing.” Nobody danced.
It was my set again. The ranking Air Force general and the ranking Navy admiral were sitting together at the head table. I was called over.
“Lt. Neely, it has been decided that you and your band will finish tonight here. The admiral will send the Navy Band to the NCO club for the rest of the night.”
Showtime came. Dinner was over, good booze was flowing. A “fun” time was being had by all.
That afternoon at rehearsal I had set up a series of special spotlights for the operators high up in the hangar’s back roof. We had a very good Anglo/Indian male dancer, a good WAC singing trio, and a good comic. All had worked shows with me before. But I needed a “gimmick” to close. It may get me sent home, but that would be great by me.
Three small, beautiful Chinese girl dancers, each nude, with only a white placard in back and in front held by a red ribbon around their waist which bounced a little as they danced were the last act. They would close the show. On the stroke of midnight all the hangar lights went black. There were a few seconds before pandemonium almost set in. Three pencil spots hit the girls who were turned to a crowd, their butts bare. They held up placards facing the crowd which said, “It ain’t so.” It was a big joke in the military that the vaginas of Chinese ladies were sideways.
The crowd, by now all well liquefied, went bonkers. The cheers and applause were fantastic and made it all worthwhile. The general, with his captain adjutant, came to the stand. My first thought was, “Oh shit. He will court-martial me, but so what? I’ll get to go home.”
He said nothing, took the captain’s twin silver bars off his tunic and put them on mine. He then shook my hand and said, “Well done, Capt. Neely.”
I got the battlefield promotion which was later confirmed.
There was jubilation in Calcutta on J Day, but more assignments for me. Our troops in China and Burma were all headed back to the Calcutta area for transport home. Not to be. All the available ships were going to Europe first, then the United States. One of my new additional responsibilities was morale officer and as such it was one of my duties to meet each plane coming in from China or Burma and tell them, “Men, you are not going home. No ships. We will try the best we can to make your delay tolerable. Please follow your leaders. That’s the way it is. I hope it won’t be too long.” There was some disappointment of course, but those were the orders and they were good soldiers.
Most Air Force officers were getting flights back to the United States. Not me. I had more than enough points, but had been declared “essential.” I did not want to fly home. The Air Force was getting short of officers. I caught another duty of being in charge of the warehouses and hangars which were now full of old Air Force gear, supplies, weapons… everything. We could not sell anything, dispose of anything, until it was decided by Gen. MacArthur what we should do.
I learned in a staff meeting that the first ship would be arriving in Calcutta. I got a call through to the general to see if I could get on the ship and go home. The general told me it was booked solid and good luck with getting on it. I had a good friend, a captain, a regular Air Force officer, who agreed to sign on in charge of all the warehouses. This would free me if I could work a deal to get on the ship.
The Navy troop ship was loading at the docks. I went aboard and asked to see the ship’s captain. The ship was crowded and overbooked. I made him a deal. I would bring as gifts to the Navy music, instruments, equipment and gear, build the band and show, and perform shows each day for the troops. It was too good a deal for him to turn down; plus, it would give him some entertainment on the voyage. The problem was that there was no place to bunk me. So I was assigned to bunk and chow down with the ship’s officers. It worked out great.
The ship’s schedule was to go to San Francisco, but it was changed to Seattle. Before leaving Calcutta I had sent a wire to Mary in Los Angeles, which she never got. By chance she was visiting with my parents who now lived in Portland. One morning in the newspaper she saw an item about a troop ship from Calcutta arriving in Seattle, listing a Capt. Harold G Neely. Could it be?
First thing in Seattle I placed a call to Mary, but there was no answer. Then I called my parents in Portland. Mary was there. She drove my dad’s car to Seattle to get me. But there were more problems. I had been assigned to take a train load of troops to Los Angeles where I had enlisted.
In luck again, always the “hustler,” I worked a deal to remain in the Air Force Reserve and get discharged at Fort Lewis in Seattle. Mary and I stayed in Portland for a week or so, then we caught a train to Los Angeles. Mary had an apartment near the University of Southern California campus and a new job near a lot of our old Lyons friends.
HOME.

(Note: Chapters in italic indicate these are Hal Neely’s own words from his memoirs.)