BUTTERWORTH:	What kind of door, stranger?
MAN:	I want an oak door.
BUTTERWORTH:	How about this model? "Whispering Hinges" we call it. Made of pine.
MAN:	I said oak.
BUTTERWORTH:	Sorry, wrong lumber.

     After that night, after something I had written besides a lead-in hit the air, I began to feel like I belonged, like I had a proprietary interest in the show.
     A few weeks later I got a letter from Jerry Herst, a good friend in San Francisco who was an aspiring song writer. He and his lyricist, Jack Sharpe, sent me a batch of songs and asked whether in my newfound sphere of influence it would be possible to show them to Fred Astaire. Of course, they pointed out, if Astaire would deign to sing one on the air, it would make a career for them. I wrote back, telling them that they had woefully overestimated my influence, which was virtually nil, but I would see what I could do.
     One morning I had an opportunity, songs in hand, to explain the situation to Johnny Green, the orchestra leader. He said he would look at them, but he said it with the tone of a person who has looked at thousands of songs without ever finding one with any merit. In other words, because we both worked on the same show, he would look at them, but I shouldn't expect anything. To my great pleasure, by the time he had read the second song he was saying, "Not bad." Finally, after looking through the whole batch of about twelve songs, he said, "Okay, Jess. When I get a chance, I'll show them to Fred. If he wants to do one, we'll do it."

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