A Brownwood-connected newspaper column moves from a legendary radio mispronunciation to a fortune-cookie joke and the career of a Texas football coach, using each story to examine how public mistakes, rumors and personal impact can outlast the original moment.
In The Idle American, published Sept. 1, 2026, Derrick Stuckly begins with the idea that Americans may have started listening for on-air “goofs” when radio became widely important during the Great Depression. He points to the story of Harry von Zell, a young CBS announcer whose alleged 1931 introduction of President Herbert Hoover supposedly came out as “Mr. Hoobert Heever.”
The intended line, according to the column, was: “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States, Mr. Herbert Hoover.” The broadcast mistake became one of radio’s best-known bloopers, although the article says von Zell later clarified what happened.
When a famous broadcast story changed
Von Zell reportedly joined in the laughter and allowed the story to grow for years before setting the record straight more than four decades later. The column says CBS had reserved nearly three hours for a celebration of the president’s birthday, but Hoover was in another state and probably never heard the supposed mistake.
Von Zell’s later explanation was that he had rehearsed the introduction at least 20 times. On the 21st attempt—the one that mattered—his words became tangled. “I’d rehearsed the line at least 20 times before the broadcast, but my ‘tang got tongled’ on the 21 st effort–the one that counted,” he said, according to the column.
Stuckly places the story in the early 1930s, when Americans were looking for reasons to laugh during difficult economic times. In his telling, the alleged error became a source of national levity, while rumors spread far beyond the original broadcast.
Jimmy Durante’s goodbye remained a mystery
The column then turns to comedian Jimmy Durante, who ended his weekly radio program for years with the words, “Good night, Mrs. Calabash…wherever you are.” Durante kept the meaning private for decades, allowing competing explanations and rumors to take hold.
Most people believe the farewell referred to his late wife, Jeanne, who loved Calabash, a small North Carolina fishing village. The article says Durante was claimed to have promised, “When I get rich, I’ll buy the town for you,” but Jeanne died of a heart attack in 1943—roughly a decade before Durante reached national stardom. He began using the familiar signoff in 1946.
Durante’s network radio show was especially popular from 1943 through 1950. Stuckly remembers it for Durante’s warmth, comedy and rinky-tink piano, and directs readers interested in the performer to recordings available on YouTube.
A Texas family tradition leads to Howard Payne
For a Texas version of a long-running tradition, Stuckly introduces Jimmie Keeling, a 91-year-old grandfather from Abilene. Keeling takes his 11 grandchildren to Chinese restaurants, enjoys reading fortune-cookie messages with them and always delivers the same personal response: “Don’t you ever die, you good-looking devil, you!”
The grandchildren are now grown, and the youngest is a freshman football player at Hardin-Simmons University. Keeling’s own football career included more than 30 years coaching in high schools and 21 years with the Hardin-Simmons University Cowboys after the program resumed.
The column says Keeling led the Cowboys to the national playoffs 11 times and received numerous honors. He retired in his mid-70s to spend more time with his family.
That story has a direct connection to Brownwood through Howard Payne University. Stuckly writes that he and Keeling are both Howard Payne alumni, although Stuckly attended a few years later. He also recalls comparing their transcripts during his later presidency at the university, joking that Keeling won that comparison too.
Beyond records and awards, Stuckly’s central tribute is to Keeling’s effect on other people. He places Keeling in the tradition of respected coaches including Baylor’s Grant Teaff, Texas A&M’s R. C. Slocum and Kansas State’s Bill Snyder, concluding that Keeling’s influence cannot be measured by grades or a résumé alone.
Newbury, identified in the column as a longtime Howard Payne University chancellor, lives in the Metroplex. The column lists his email address as [email protected] and his phone number as 817-447-3872.