As the old saying goes, politics is show business for ugly people. Many politicians share with their entertainment-industry kin a thirst for attention and approval. But you don’t have to look like a Hollywood star – or have any particular musical or acting talent – to make it to Capitol Hill.
For those politicians who do have a performing talent, that talent is often graded on a generous curve. A Representative who can sing passably, or a Senator who can plunk out a tune on the banjo, is hailed as a star.
In 1950, a group of Washington politicos – including Estes Kefauver –staged a radio and TV spectacle to raise money for charity. Depending on who you asked, the event either showed that our political leaders had hidden talents… or proved that they should stick to their day jobs.
Let’s Put On A Show!
This DC extravaganza was staged by “The Original Amateur Hour,” a show that dated back to the Great Depression. You can think of it as sort of a proto-“American Idol,” except that the aspiring stars weren’t just singers, but performers of many stripes, including musicians and vaudeville performers. The show’s listeners (and, later, TV viewers) would vote for their favorite performer, and the winner would be invited back the following week.
At the beginning of 1950, Amateur Hour host Ted Mack got the idea to host an episode of the show in Washington. But rather than the usual assortment of locals, the show would feature political figures. The program would double as the kickoff for the American Heart Association’s annual fundraising campaign; all proceeds would go to the charity.
Mack’s producers booked a local venue (Constitution Hall), enlisted Vice President Alben Barkley as master of ceremonies, and held auditions at the Willard for interested politicos. According to Newsweek, the auditions drew a swarm of VIPs eager to participate. The talent level, however, seemed a bit lacking.
“We’re looking for something legit,” moaned producer Lou Goldberg at the start of the second day of tryouts. “There must be someone on Capitol Hill who at least can sing ‘The Lord’s Prayer.’”
In time, however, the program took shape. Republican Rep. Dewey Short of Missouri impressed the producers with a cavalcade of impressions. (“He’s on for sure,” said Goldberg. “He’ll lay ‘em dead.”) Democratic Rep. Frank Chelf of Kentucky demonstrated reasonable skill on the harmonica. The wives of Sens. Claude Pepper of Florida and George Malone of Nevada made for a decent singing duet.
Kefauver also made the cut, and he didn’t even have to come down to the Willard for a tryout. His specific act, however, remained a bit mysterious. Newsweek claimed that Kefauver planned to tell “a backwoods story,” while the AP said that he would perform “a Daniel Boone act.” On one thing, however, all sources agreed: Kefauver would definitely be wearing his famed coonskin cap.
Once the producers had settled on the lineup, they proceeded to stage a rehearsal. According to Harman Nichols of the United Press, who braved the proceedings, the rehearsal wasn’t exactly a well-oiled machine. But what the politicos lacked in skill, they made up for in enthusiasm – and volume.
Democratic Rep. Frank Boykin of Alabama sang his heart out while “beat[ing] the dickens out of a washboard” while wearing a thimble on each finger because, Nichols explained, “You get more racket that way.” Boykin reportedly bounced around so much that his pince-nez glasses kept falling off his face.
Navy Captain Christian Engleman, meanwhile, had an instrument of his own design. He anchored a canoe paddle to a washtub and wired strings over the paddle. Plucking the strings like an upright bass, Capt. Engleman “got a fine bass tone,” according to Nichols.
And in the center of the action, there was Kefauver, coonskin cap firmly planted on his head. But according to Nichols, Kefauver wasn’t telling a story or doing a Daniel Boone impression. Instead, he was serving as the leader of a “congressional hillbilly band.” Kefauver’s idea of bandleading apparently involved “tooting a kazoo.” Nichols reported of the Senator’s kazoo stylings, “The noise… wasn’t too unmelodic.”
It would be hard to blame Ted Mack and the producers if they were having second thoughts by this point. But showtime was just a week and a half away, and the American Heart Association was counting on them.
Ready or not, “The VIP Amateur Hour” was about to be unleashed on the public.
Iiiiiit’s Showtime!
Ads for the February 2 event took a hopeful tone. “You’ll discover a new, human side to the nation’s lawmakers,” read one ad, “when you listen to the most famous ‘amateur’ talent in the U.S.A.” Promised another, “Washington officialdom… lets down its hair and puts its heart and talents into songs, skits, and instrumental solos, in this all-star amateur program.”
There was a packed house at Constitution Hall for the two-hour benefit. (Only the last half of the show was broadcast on the radio.) And, as it turned out, the VIP on stage… actually had some talent.
Rep, Chelf’s harmonica rendition of “My Old Kentucky Home” was quite the hit, as was Tennessee Rep. Albert Gore’s hillbilly fiddle. Rep. Frances Boulton of Ohio performed a lovely soprano rendition of Brahm’s “Lullaby.” Rep. Hale Boggs of Louisiana did a touching piano duet with his 10-year-old daughter.
There was a dueling pair of barbershop quartets: a Democratic version led by Rep. Percy Priest of Tennessee and a GOP counterpart led by Rep. Leslie Arends of Illinois. In addition, Vice President Barkley and his wife led the Capitol Chorus, a bipartisan group of 30 Senators and Representatives.
The musical acts were interlaced with humor. Rep. Short’s impression of Winston Churchill and a World War I doughboy did indeed “lay ‘em dead.” The wife of French Ambassador Henri Bonnet did a skit about the history of women’s fashion that wound up with her wearing a lampshade on her head.
Interior Secretary Oscar Chapman did a skit about what, exactly, the Interior Department does; it was at least enough of a nerdy in-joke to amuse the DC audience.
Retired Vice Admiral Clark Woodward brought the house down by wearing a life preserver turned into a sort of wearable guitar with strings attached. The life preserver was labeled “U.S.S. Misery,” a delightful pun on the name of the battleship U.S.S. Missouri, which had recently run aground in Chesapeake Bay. (According to Newsweek, Vice Admiral Woodward got his slot on the show by telling the producers “drunk stories.”)
The coonskin-clad Kefauver led his “hillbilly band,” redubbed the “Celebrity Symphony.” The AP declared that Kefauver’s band – which included instruments such as washboards, coffee grinders, ukeleles, and kazoos – was “probably the biggest hit of the show.”
Not every act was a hit. Vice President Barkley, reportedly a fine singer, was drowned out by the rest of the Capitol Chorus. And Rep. Frank Regan of Texas did a “Mexican dialect number” that I’m sure was not racist or unfortunate in any way.
The regular “Amateur Hour” included a gong, which Ted Mack would ring when an act was so bad that he refused to let them finish. For the DC version, House Speaker Sam Rayburn was allowed to preside over the gong. Remarkably, he reportedly didn’t gong out anybody.
The show went over well enough that the “Amateur Hour” producers decided that a televised sequel was in order. So the following week, they brought the politicians up to New York and held a TV broadcast from NBC studios.
A Breakout Hit… or Just a Bunch of Hot Air?
In the end, the event was a success: a good time was had by all, or at least most, and the benefit met its goal of raising $6 million for the AHA.
But was the show, you know… any good? It depends on who you asked.
Opinion columnist Peter Edson was a fan. “Some of the biggest names in Washington have taken a fling at show business – and, by golly, they’re good,” Edson wrote in his review.
“Should some of our highest Washington officials be retired to private life,” enthused columnist Ben Gross, “they could very well make a bee line to the William Morris booking offices and land a job in vaudeville.”
Radio reporter John Crosby, however, disagreed strongly. “The idea of putting a collection of congressmen on the amateur hour… was unquestionably a press agent’s dream,” Crosby wrote. “It brought forth a series of very readable press releases. Perhaps it would have been better to have left the matter right there, in the steam-heated prose of the press agents.”
Crosby said that since the show was raising money for a good cause, “it would be both wise and kind to limit any further reflections on this congressional entertainment.” He added, however, that “the amateur hour, conceivably for the first time in its 15th year history, was unmistakably amateur Thursday night.”
I suspect that Crosby was right, and that Edson and Gross – who depended on Capitol Hill sources for information – were grading on a generous curve.
Then again, when you consider what passes for “entertainment” in politics these days – elected officials trading insults and acting like wrestling heels on podcasts and social media, or the President posting AI-generated videos of himself dumping sewage on protestors – the days of Senators bleating on kazoos and admirals plucking stringed life preservers don’t seem so bad after all.
Estes Kefauver for President 
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