 The recording industry of the late 1920s
wasn’t unlike the Internet of today: new technologies like microphones
and radio
were replacing the old media types and the younger generation wanted only what was new.
This isn’t to say that the old media weren’t popular -- singer Billy Murray was the
first person to sell one million records, and superstars like Enrico Caruso,
John McCormack, Al Jolson,
and Eddie Cantor
were wildly popular in genres (opera and Broadway) that are mere niches
today.
But when the electronic microphone was invented in the mid 1920s, the old
styles of recording were out. No longer did singers have to shout into acoustic recording
horns; now singing could be more intimate
and thoughtful.
Dozens of new vocalists made literally thousands of records, and while such
names as Scrappy Lambert, Dick Robertson, and Irving Kaufman are now known only to collectors,
two singers quickly rose to the top: Bing Crosby and Russ Columbo (whose
101st birthday on January 14th we note today).
Both men were quickly signed to appear in movies, and were neck-and-neck in
popularity until the night of September 2, 1934, when 26-year-old Columbo was
visiting a friend, photographer Lansing Brown. Brown was showing Columbo a pair of antique dueling
pistols when one accidentally went off, sending a ancient lead pellet ricocheting
off a mahogany desk and into Columbo’s brain, fatally wounding him. That would seem a bizarre enough ending to the
story, but it was only the beginning.
Columbo's aged mother, Julia, had been hospitalized a few days earlier with a
serious heart ailment, and her doctors determined that telling
her about her son's death would be fatal. Columbo's
friends, family, and fiancée (actress Carole Lombard),
decided that Lombard would send Mrs. Columbo a postcard saying that she
and Russ had eloped to New York and would see her soon.
Mrs. Columbo soon recovered, but the ruse continued -- for a decade. Lombard
and other friends kept up a continuous stream of postcards, letters,
telegrams, and messages explaining why Russ couldn't visit his mother, but
would see her soon. Despite newspaper and magazine articles that detailed the
deception, Julia never caught on -- and eventually outlived her daughter, her
husband, and even Lombard herself -- finally passing away peacefully in 1944,
nearly ten years after her son had died.
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