This dark little photo is all I have left of me as a kid- with Ruth holding our little sister, Rita

I didn't have a really great childhood. I was born in a Jewish ghetto, along with my two sisters, on the lower East Side of Manhattan. Eventually we moved to Coney Island, where I grew up. Two blocks from our cold water flat lay a garish environment for a little boy. Mobs of revelers visited Luna Park and Steeplechase, the two great amusement Parks of Coney Island. A bit further toward the beach were the midways where barkers hawked "freak shows" and tourists visited the Wax Museum while munching on Nathan's hot dogs and Chow Mein sandwiches.

There wasn't much about my childhood that I enjoyed. I think I was majorly abused by my mother, while my Father, a good person in general, did not have the courage to intervene. I remember her making such warm, thoughtful statements as this: "You are a stupid boy who can never do anything right. You're a lame piece of shit that trips over your own feet. You'll never amount to anything because you're not clever enough. You'll always be a bum like your father". Now one of the reasons I did "trip over my own feet" was that I had polio as a child, so her comments were not appreciated. Even then, I realized, to a degree, her excessive cruelty.

She added a religious dimension to her cruelty".God should strike you dead if you're lying to me. God should hit you with a lightning bolt for disobeying. You should burn in Hell and suffer. Wait, wait my son, soon I'll be dead then you'll cry, oh why didn't I appreciate her when I had her? When I die you'll be sorry, you'll see. Mark mine words". This was my childhood, with punches and pinches but nobody recognized

Sol Wilchin, my Father, with Clara, my Mother and Rita, My Younger Sister

the signs of child abuse. Not that I hid them so well, just that society, including my teachers, never looked for those things at the time. Today, they would quickly recognize an "emotionally disturbed kid". All the outward signs were there- I had numerous tics, I stuttered and stammered and couldn't concentrate. Still I managed to pass all my grades and even skipped a couple of times but it was such a dreary life and I never knew what to expect each day when I'd come home from school.

What has this got to do with ventriloquism? Well, you might be interested that I never met a young ventriloquist that did not have some kind of a problem, whether shyness or stuttering or lack of self-esteem, etc.- that did not conspicuously drive him into the safe refuge of ventriloquism, where the development of an alter ego, a new personae, sometimes even helps mold his recovery.

Given my personal situation, I don't think it was odd that in 1934, I was excited to find a radio program that fascinated me because I learned that one man did the voices for all the characters. It was called "The Chase and Sanborn Hour:" (named after a brand of coffee) and featured Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy. At first, I had no idea that Charlie was a dummy and that Bergen was a ventriloquist. I didn't even know what the word meant because in all my thirteen years I'd never been exposed to the art of ventriloquism. Besides, it was radio and there was no way to see what was happening but I enjoyed the comedy as millions of others did and Ibecame a regular listener.

One day, it was advertised that Bergen was to appear in a film called the Goldwyn Follies so I headed straight for my local theater. Sitting there in the dark the most amazing thing occurred. The moment I saw Charlie sit up on the screen I was completely entranced. I'm not certain what captivated me but I made up my mind right then that I wanted to try my hand at ventriloquism.

Edgar Bergen was extremely popular at the time and stores everywhere sold Charlie McCarthy dolls and all sorts of merchandising and Bergen had even written a booklet on the subject. The book sold for ten cents and I begged my mother for the dime to which she replied, "Money doesn't grow on trees and I don't have a dime to spend on junk".

Clara, my Mother, a key figure in my life, who presented me with many challenges.

"But it's not junk Ma, it's educational and I can learn to be a ventriloquist like Edgar Bergen" I pleaded. She held out her hand and pointed to her palm, "When hair grows here that's when you'll be like Bergen". Try as I might, I couldn't pry a penny out of her. My oldest sister Ruth was being courted by a boy friend so I made a nuisance of myself and wouldn't leave them alone for a moment until I finally agreed to get lost for a dime. Ruth's fiancé handed me the dime and I immediately sent for the booklet of instructions. Lesson one taught the beginner to sit in front of a mirror and observe his tongue carefully as he ran through the alphabet. That was the first time I had ever paid close attention to how I articulated sounds and I quickly became aware of my lisp and stuttering. I practiced diligently despite constant discouragement from my mother and managed to overcome my speech defects.

"Stop wasting your time looking in a mirror, you'll never learn to do it-so stop screeching and making those terrible noises, you're not clever enough to be like Edgar Bergen". I can't find words to convey how her deprecation set me on fire. I looked at myself in the mirror and swore vengeance".If it's the last

I was thirteen and planned on becoming a commercial artist. I had no idea what destiny had in store for me.

thing I ever do, I'll show her she's wrong about me and then she'll be sorry she treats me this way. Still, I persisted undaunted by her discouragement and to my amazement I achieved a satisfactory result in only three months. I spent most of my school summer vacation perfecting my skill and when I returned to class in the fall, there was already a change in my demeanor. I had been attending the School of Industrial Art in Manhattan, preparing for a career in Commercial Art that included painting, sculpting, mold making, lettering and puppetry. I asked my teacher, Mr. Magon, that if I constructed a ventriloquist dummy as an art project, could it receive credits in the course? After all, it would involve sculpting, casting and painting which were all essential to the study of commercial art. I was thrilled when my teacher gave my request a resounding "yes". I began the project immediately and received lots of help from Mr. Magon. When the clay head was ready, I cast it with plaster of Paris to make the mold. Then I coated the inside with a thin layer of plastic wood and soaked the entire unit under water to avoid shrinkage. Enough of the technical steps, what happened when the fully functional head was painted is the stuff that the "Rocky" stories are made of. I was the young "Rocky," emerging from the ugly ghetto into the sunshine of affluence and fame without education, a privileged upbringing, money or special training- just a certain, specific talent that I largely taught to myself.

I didn't tell anyone that I'd learned ventriloquism during the last few months; I simply picked up the head and began to make it talk. My classmates were astounded and watched in awe as I began to imitate Charlie McCarthy's voice. I hadn't made a body for the figure so I hid the neck behind a book and the illusion was perfect. I'd never been particularly popular in school but suddenly I had found my place in the sun. Everyone was all excited about my new talent and they gathered around me asking all kinds of questions. Mr. Magon knew that I was a troubled kid and he was thrilled for me so he sent me around to every classroom to show the kids what I had accomplished during summer vacation. In one classroom after the other I entertained the kids and my fame began to grow. Students that had nothing to do with me before now wanted to know me. I recall vividly twin girls who decided to become my bodyguards and acted as though I was their property; wherever I went they followed to protect me. Bergen's influence had definitely changed my high school experience. When it was time to choose student officers, the art classes painted posters of the dummy and me campaigning for the candidates and hung them in the halls. I began to feel like a new person, more outgoing than ever-except when I went home and returned to everyday life, as I knew it.

One afternoon Mr. Magon called me over to a corner".Word of your activity has reached Dr. Gombarts and he would like to see you in his office". The Principal had heard about my hobby and wanted me to bring my puppet to his office. I had never been to the Principal before and I was a little scared. As I opened the door he was seated behind a big desk and he was smiling.

"I hear you've learned ventriloquism son" he began".Let me see the puppet you made".

I handed him the head, which he carefully inspected and handed it back to me".Now, how about a demonstration?" he asked. I hid the neck behind a book and began. He grinned broadly as he watched me and said, "That's very good but your friend has no hair". He picked up the phone and called a rug company right next door. He asked them to send over a small piece of red chenille rug, which he deftly cut up and fashioned into a flaming red wig.

"Can you make a body for your puppet?" he asked. Before I could answer he added, "I'll tell you why I'm asking. I have a dear friend who does a radio show and I might be able to get you an audition if you're interested. His name is Major Bowes and he has an amateur hour on CBS. How would you feel about that?" I was speechless but quickly nodded yes. I knew instinctively that I would need some semblance of a routine for the audition. My mother still refused to give me the money so I conned another dime out of Ruth's beau and bought a magazine called Ten Thousand Jokes from which I culled about a dozen schoolroom jokes and a few girlie-girlie gags. I put together a moderately funny act that was amateurish but so was I. My dad may have been childlike but he was extremely handy with tools. A tailor by trade he was also a crackerjack on the sewing machine. Later that afternoon he took me to Orchard Street on the lower eastside of Manhattan where pushcarts abounded, rivaling the famous Petticoat Lane of London. Walking down row after row of vendors selling an assortment of junk, we stopped in our tracks as we spotted a badly broken, headless mannequin of a little boy. Pop bought it for fifteen cents and when we got home he cut off the arms and legs and made stuffed canvas tubes on his sewing machine. Then he fastened the hands and shoes onto the tubes and-voila! The body was done. He also fashioned a lovely gray and green suit for the figure and I was in business. Several weeks later I reported to the Major Bowes office at CBS radio studio on Broadway and 53rd, scared as hell, and met Bessie Mack who was the Major's girl Friday. I passed the audition and was scheduled to appear on the program in three weeks. All through this period I was constantly tempted to use my new found success to rub my mother's nose in it-but I was so frightened of her that I never uttered a word.

Cleve, My First Investor and Ruth's boyfriend, with Rita, No Longer a Kid

Ruth's fellow was a very nice guy from Cleveland-nicknamed Cleve, who had taken me to the audition and was now taking me to the radio studio where the program was scheduled to go on the air at eight o'clock that evening. It was 1936 and I recall sitting in the wings with the puppet on my lap, frightened to death, as I watched Major Bowes on the stage introducing one amateur after the other. That was the original gong show and if the studio audience didn't think much of your talent, Bowes would give you the gong and you were through. Being a raw amateur, appearing on a full network show, gave me enough anxiety but the possibility of getting the gong only added to the butterflies. It was a pretty heavy load to carry for a kid whose own mother had no faith in him. As I sat waiting to be called I trembled so badly that you could hear the dummy's frame battling. Suddenly, it was my time to go on and as Major Bowes began to introduce me, Bessie Mack had me ushered onto the stage in front of the studio audience and I was on the air. I knew my mother was home listening as the Major began to interview me:

"Here's a fifteen year old boy from Cleveland named Paul Winchell" the Major began. Cleve, who later became my brother-in-law, had filled out my original application and made some changes. He didn't think the name Wilchin was a good name for an actor so he chose Winchell instead, and used his hometown of Cleveland, despite knowing that I was born in Manhattan. So, those erroneous facts stuck to me for years afterwards.

"Tell me Paul, what are you going to do for us this evening?"

"Well Sir, I'm going to give my impersonation of Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy".

My first professional Jerry Mahoney, modified from the the dummy I bought from Frank Marshall .

"Very well. Ladies and gentlemen here's Paul Winchell giving his impression of Edgar Bergen and that celebrated clothespin in a high hat- Charlie McCarthy".

I began my very first real performance before an adult audience and though I was nervous, I surprised everyone including myself, with a joke I had picked from the magazine. Now Jerry, who I then called Terry, said he was driving a car that suddenly began to speed, frightening him. As the straight man of the team I said, "I bet you were in a dilemma" and Jerry replied, "No, it was a DeSoto". The joke got a big laugh from the studio audience because the Desoto automobile was the Major's sponsor. When the laugh died down I had Jerry ask, "How'm I doin Major, how'm I doin?" The audience realized that I was ad-libbing and broke into spontaneous applause. What a magical night and I'll never forget one moment of it. The rest of the act went over well and I finished with a song that won me a rousing cheer and applause. It was some triumph for me as I waited for the show's end to find out who had won that night's contest. At the conclusion of the program I was declared the winner and I rushed home to give my mother the one hundred dollar prize money in cash. Now she would have to admit she was wrong because she had heard me declared the winner and she knew that her son had indeed achieved success with ventriloquism even without her ten cents. But could she tell me she was proud? Oh, she took the money all right, but something in that woman prevented her from ever giving me any praise. It was all so futile because I had tried so hard to win her approval but it was all over now. I had had my moment in the sun and now it was dreary life back to normal. The next day would find me back in school as though it had never occurred at all. The glory that happens to some people once in a lifetime had run its course and I was not quite fifteen. Before me lay the prospect of a career as a commercial artist.

Of course, Major Bowes gave me my first really big break when I appeared on the Major Bowes Original Amateur Hour.

If I had felt like a big deal in class before the broadcast, you can imagine my status after winning the radio contest. Things in school were better than ever and I began to settle down and enjoy the notoriety. This would be a good moment to take a break and relive those early days of being recognized in the hallways. I was only a fellow student but suddenly I was something more-almost a celebrity. My fame was not short lived because about two weeks later the phone rang and my mother handed the caller over to me.

"Oh, hi Miss Mack". It was Bessie Mack the Major's girl Friday.

"Paul, I don't know if I mentioned this but the Major has Revues appearing in theaters all over the country and the acts are our past winners. We've received lots of calls from theatre managers that would love to have you on their bill. What do you think? We can pay you $35 a week and we pay the fare".

That was how I became a ventriloquist and how Jerry and I started out on our career.

Partially excerpted from Paul Winchell's biography and specially edited for this website.