Even atomic spy Julius Rosenberg was tuned to the Ranger on the evening that real-life lawmen burst through the door of his dingy flat to arrest him for selling secrets to the Russians. Edgar Hoover loved the simple cowboy morality sandwiched between pitches for Silvercup bread, one of the show’s sponsors. America’s sweetheart, child star Shirley Temple, gushed that it was her favorite program. You had to use your imagination as to what was going on.”įrom 1933 to 1954, a period that spanned the Great Depression, World War II, and the early years of the Cold War, The Lone Ranger threw an enormous electronic lasso over a country hungry for heroes, roping in as many as 15 million listeners every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night. “We had a 3-foot-high cabinet radio in the living room, and I’d sit there on the floor and listen to every episode. “Brace Beemer had a voice that was unforgettable,” says Mert Oakes, who grew up in Iowa during the ’30s. Such was the influence of radio during its golden age, and such was the remarkable staying power of the medium’s greatest fictional lawman. Who was this tall, heavyset man with the craggy good looks? It didn’t help matters that host Garry Moore wouldn’t let the mystery guest answer any questions himself.įinally, Moore allowed him to utter a single word - “No” - and millions of ears around the country instantly perked up at the sound of an old friend’s voice. On a particular Monday evening in 1964, the game-show panel on television’s I’ve Got a Secret was stumped. Brace Beemer, center, with The Lone Ranger crew in the WXYZ studios.
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