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| November, 1949 Hi, gang! This is the month when they. stop giving out life insurance policies to turkeys. The only reason the Thanksgiving birds have to be thankful is that they couldn’t hope to have a better country to die for. Famous Turkeys With Which I Have Been Associated: [in the language of show business a turkey is a flop-Ed.] The night when I was singing with Tommy Dorsey and we broke the all-time attendance record at an Ohio Dance Palace. We broke the attendance record and the promoter broke the record for the 100-yard-dash—with all the money. The night when a souvenir-hunter grabbed my copy of the lyrics out of my pocket as I came through the radio studio door—and for a half-hour the Hit Parade’s audience was treated to an unending series of boo-boo-boo-doops. The charming incident when T. D.’s road manager put the instruments on the wrong train, and it was left up to Jo Stafford, Connie Haines, the Pied Pipers and me to satisfy a large audience of Philadelphians with four hours of singing instead of the band music they’d expected. P. S. We didn’t. The wonderful Thanksgiving dinner my mother cooked for the performers, stagehands, ushers and doormen backstage at the Capitol Theatre in New York when we all had to work on that holiday two years ago. It was beautiful—until the waiters we had hired to serve the feast poured all the turkey gravy over the spaghetti and all the spaghetti sauce over the turkey and trimmings. To our palates, it was very confusing. It’s inventory-taking time in the blessings department, and I’ve got plenty to count! I’ve got Big Nancy, Little Nancy, young Frankie and the current crown jewel of the family crib, Christina. I have enough responsibilities to keep me wide awake, and I have just enough security to keep me from worrying. My job in the movies and my job on the radio leave me enough time to take care of my job in the home. I’m grateful for the friends that I’ve made, and even more grateful to those friends who made me—the fans. I’m thankful to show business, which has treated me so handsomely for the past ten years. And I’m grateful that I have enough sense to realize that just one day isn’t enough in which to give thanks for all that I have and all that has happened to me. So, this year, I think I’ll just pick up Thanksgiving Day’s option and hold its spirit over for a 364-day run. Names From My Autograph Book: For my money, Jack Benny has done more to keep this a mentally healthy nation than all the psychiatrists from coast to coast. He should be prescribed, like pills, only Jack should be taken in more frequent doses. As a Sunday night radio host he usually has upwards of twenty million people dropping in on him. Even if you have never been an actual guest in his home, take it from me you still know how it feels to be a guest of Mr. Benny’s. The same fun and informality prevail whether you’re part of a party or part of an audience. Once you’re a friend of Jack’s, he takes you in as a partner on his wonderful attitude toward life, and when this happens you suddenly have the feeling that you have just fallen heir to infinite riches. A great thing about the man who so easily makes millions laugh (while also just plain making millions), he is probably the greatest laugher in Hollywood. And, most important, Jack Benny has one greater talent than being a great comedian—that’s being a great friend. Yours, 
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