Cameron’s Forgotten Superstar

Tiny Whitt:

Cameron’s forgotten superstar

Before "American Idol," there was "Star Search." Before that came Arthur Godfrey’s "Talent Scouts" and "Ted Mack and the Original Amateur Hour." But before them, there was the granddaddy of them all … radio’s Major Bowes Amateur Hour."

With so many chances to find fame, it was inevitable that an Aggie would find the spotlight. One did.

His name was Wayne Calvin Whitt, but most folks knew him as “Tiny.” His talent took him from the campus of Cameron State Agricultural College during the Great Depression and landed him in Tinseltown, where he acted alongside Bob Hope, Lana Turner, Henry Fonda and Tyrone Power.

For a brief, shining instant, he was Lawton’s superstar.

Born in 1913, Wayne was the youngest of Louis and Mittie Whitt’s five kids. Louis was a brakeman for a Kentucky railroad before he relocated his family to a farm outside Stroud around statehood. The Whitts lived in Lincoln County for several years, but decided to head northeast to Miami by the time Wayne was in high school. When the family eventually left Oklahoma for Noel, Missouri, Wayne instead went the other direction. No one knows why he chose Cameron, but in the spring of 1934, the 21-year-old wound up on campus. Back then, CSAC was well on its way to becoming Oklahoma’s largest junior college. It was known statewide for football and its agriculture program … but it also offered nearly a dozen music and drama programs.

With its vast array of trios, quartets, octets, choral groups, bands – even a dance orchestra – the college was constantly sending out students to perform for civic groups and society functions. Whether by accident or by intent, Wayne had found himself right where he needed to be.

To say that Wayne was a “big man on campus” would be an understatement. At 6-foot-4, you could spot him a mile away. He sang for young men at a Civilian Conservation Corps work relief camp at Binger. He pledged the “Black Maskers” drama club and directed fellow students in one-act plays. He joined the Cameron Quartet, and emceed school functions. He was elected vice president of CSAC’s sophomore class.

He provided accompaniment for Cameron’s popular girl’s group – and renamed it the “Wayne Whitt Trio.” The group sometimes played three shows a week. Whether it was in Meers or in Walters, he found audiences. Wayne took courses in harmony, ear training, public speaking and journalism, turning himself into an all-around entertainer and promoter.

One weekend, while visiting his parents in Missouri, he made a quick trip to Sulphur Springs, Ark. It was there that Wayne met Kate Smith. Yes, THAT one, the “God Bless America” Kate Smith. Only six years older than Wayne, Smith was already a veteran of radio and a chart-topping singer. Wayne’s brief encounter with Smith nurtured his thought that a plus-size singer with a big voice and a folksy attitude could be a star.

All he needed was a chance, and in the spring of 1936, he got it when "Major Bowes Amateur Hour" called.

American Idol is probably the closest thing today that compares to Bowes’ radio program. It didn’t matter where you lived, you were a fan of the show that attracted singers, tap dancers, and musicians who played the saw or the washboard. Even baton twirlers got a shot – although it’s impossible to figure how their abilities were judged on the radio. It didn’t really matter, as Bowes himself was the sole judge. Those who failed their audition were rudely interrupted with a gong and sent home – a trick that Chuck Barris would resurrect 40 years later on TV’s “Gong Show.”

Those who knew Ed Bowes said he made Simon Cowell look like a saint. He had the power to make or break an act. And that he did, making stars out of unknown entertainers like Frank Sinatra, Pat Boone, Connie Francis and Beverly Sills.

The Lawton Chamber of Commerce sponsored a benefit at one of the hotels in Medicine Park and raised enough to send Wayne to New York as Cameron’s representative. He repaid the favor with a victory. He became part of Bowe’s touring company that crisscrossed the nation entertaining America. That experience eventually led to an offer to sing with Ozzie Nelson’s orchestra.

Wayne was performing at the Shadow Lake Dance Hall, one of the resort clubs in his parents’ hometown of Noel, when his big break came in the summer of 1938.

Just up the road in Pineville, the western “Jesse James” was being filmed. While Noel was small – around 500 people at that time – Pineville was much smaller, so cast members stayed there instead. On their first night in Noel, Henry Fonda and Tyrone Power decided to hit one of the They saw Wayne’s performance and took a liking to him. They encouraged him to try out for the movie, and he was cast as the conductor of a train held up by the James Brothers. His appearance was brief, but Wayne now had his first acting credit under his belt. He headed west where Paramount put him under contract and immediately cast him in “Some Like it Hot,” a Bob Hope comedy that had Wayne playing the bass player in Gene Krupa’s band.

Back in Oklahoma, “Some Like it Hot” was booked for a “world premiere” in Lawton a week before it would officially open in New York. Wayne came home for the event, which featured a live phone conversation with Bob Hope that was broadcast over speakers so moviegoers could listen in.

The local boy had made good. Cameron administrators asked him to visit campus, where he delivered opening remarks at the 1939 Honors Day assembly.

The Mort Millman Agency represented Wayne, and it decided he needed a new name. Given his massive size – which now topped 300 pounds – it seemed clever to call him “Tiny” Whitt. And that’s how he was known for the rest of his life.

Tiny made two more films in 1939, playing a college student in the “Dancing Co-Ed” with Lana Turner, and as a football player in “$100,000 a Touchdown” with Joe E. Brown and Susan Hayward. In one year, Tiny made four films with some

Wayne Whitt's most notable movie role was in the Bob Hope movie, “Some Like it Hot.” That’s him at upper left. Opposite page: Tiny Whitt made his movie debut in “Jesse James,” a western with Tyrone Power and Henry Fonda.

of Hollywood’s biggest names. He lived in Laurel Canyon and made three times the salary of the average American male. And then, inexplicably, it all came to a screeching halt. Tiny never appeared in another film.

Maybe he decided being a movie star wasn’t in the cards, or more likely, he simply decided he’d rather sing, which he did at the Cocoanut Grove, the noted supper club frequented by the rich and famous. He was featured at such well-known Sunset Strip night spots as Ciro’s and the Trocadero. Tiny’s friendship with Gene Krupa got him a gig with Gene’s band and then as a vocalist for Alvino Rey’s and Paul Whiteman’s orchestras.

At the start of World War II, Tiny joined the Hollywood Victory Committee and performed USO shows along the West Coast. He returned to the Cocoanut Grove, where soldiers mingled with celebrities, to help raise funds for the war effort.

Along the way, he made friends with Jeannie Robbins, one of many girls who headed to Hollywood in the 1930s with plans of being a model or starlet. Instead, she wound up retouching photos at a studio. Jeannie also gave her time to the Red Cross and USO, and that’s how she met Tiny.

One morning, hundreds of miles from Oklahoma, Tiny bumped into an old friend on a Hollywood street corner. Ervin Ethell was a Lawton boy who wanted to learn to fly, and Cameron had a pilot training program. After earning his degree and a pilot’s license at CSAC, Ervin joined the Army Air Corps and was

Tiny was responsible for introducing Cameron war hero Ervin Ethell (right) to his future wife, Jeannie. (Photo courtesy Jennie Chancey) With his good looks, it was inevitable that Ervin would need some portraits made. Tiny seemed to know everyone in Hollywood, and they knew him. When Ervin asked him if he knew of a good studio, Tiny responded by saying, “Erv, you happen to be right outside the best studio in town and I know the girl who does the retouching. She’ll make you look like Clark Gable.” Ervin and Jeannie were introduced, a romance was kindled and Tiny became a war hero’s matchmaker when Ervin received the Distinguished Flying Cross for his wartime missions in Africa.

After the war, Tiny traveled to Oklahoma City for a summertime visit with his brother, Glenn. It was Tiny’s first time back home since the war began, and in a short time he decided to return for good.

Back in Oklahoma, Tiny couldn’t recapture the fame he’d had in California, and then his family was hit with a series of tragedies. Glenn opened a farm implement store in Sapulpa, but soon flirted with bankruptcy. In an act of desperation, he robbed a bank in Luther and was caught less than a day later holding less than $3,000 in loot. Glenn went to prison in 1953, and both of Tiny and Glenn’s parents were dead within the year.

Still, Tiny wasn’t ready to stop entertaining. In 1959, he bought the Shadow Lake Dance Hall – the same one where he’d met Tyrone Power and Henry Fonda 20 years earlier. “Jesse James” had put the club on the map, and clientele from a nearby military training base gave it a reputation as a hotspot.

Shadow Lake’s popularity peaked by the late 1950s, so Tiny must have thought he’d landed a goldmine when bought the venue. In reality, Shadow Lake was sold because Oklahoma started allowing liquor sales, and a major highway was being diverted to Pineville. Fewer customers meant less revenue and the owner saw the writing on the wall. Tiny didn’t, and soon his hopes of running an entertainment mecca faded.

Tiny spent the rest of his days in obscurity. He operated a Tulsa restaurant, and in January 1971, he died of a heart attack at age 58. Tiny’s obituary made no mention of his life as an entertainer, other than serving as the organist at his church.

His body was taken to Davenport where the rest of his kin were buried. Tiny had outlived them all. The family plot was full, so Tiny wasn’t even laid to rest near his parents. He was buried with a plain headstone halfway across the cemetery.

It was a sad ending for an Aggie who found fame on national radio, rubbed shoulders with movie stars, and sang with some of the great bandleaders of the day. It was a long way from Hollywood, and it was a long way from Cameron State Agricultural College. - Keith Mitchell