Problems, Inc.

Every Sunday night a group of worried characters step up to a mike in the studios of Manhattan's WMCA. Some of them are unhappy about their love life, some are moody about lack of cash. But whatever their problems, they are usually unabashed in discussing them, which gives the Good Will Hour, in which they participate, a fine confessional flavor. All they get for reciting their troubles is the advice of a small, damp-eyed, foxy-looking gentleman, sharp in manner and dress, who is the current top in aerial soul searchers.

John J. Anthony is a man of somewhat obscure antecedents, as are most of the problem wizards of the air. Manhattan-born, now 44, Mr. Anthony boasts that he has dabbled in law, studied psychology under Freud, claims that he holds three degrees from assorted universities. On the ground that he doesn't want to be looked upon as an academician, he refuses to divulge the names of his alma maters. He abhors the U. S. educational system. "It isn't," he remarks, "worth a goodgoddam."

Although he is profane and frequently ribald away from his mike, Mr. Anthony when wired for sound is as full of virtue as a revivalist. Ladies periodically knocked around by their husbands, men whose wives tend to wander indiscriminately, are uniformly advised by Mr. Anthony that life is beautiful and love will conquer all. The ill winds that blow through his microphone bring Mr. Anthony an estimated $3,000 a week.

Mr. Anthony's clients are selected through correspondence. Each week he assembles 30 to 40 bothered people, selects from the group the most interesting cases. Identifying these customers only by initials, he proceeds on the air to grill them about their difficulties. The Good Will recitatives are often startling. Once a woman began her story: "I murdered my husband." Turned out she had murdered him all right, but had been acquitted.

On another occasion a youth appeared who said: "I am going to kill a man." While the young man babbled about doing something to the husband of his cutie, Mr. Anthony passed a note to his announcer suggesting that the client's coat be searched. In it was found a foot-long jack handle--"a fine instrument for murder," as Mr. Anthony now points out. From this distraught juvenile, Mr. Anthony won a promise not to do anything until the next day. By that time Mr. Anthony had a psychiatrist ready, who subsequently worked a cure.

Pleasantest dialogue of recent weeks was provided by a colored lady whose husband beat her. "Are you a mother?" inquired Mr. Anthony softly. "Ah is," the lady said. "And have you any children?" "Ah has." "How many, madam?" "Twenty-three."

Only once in his career has Mr. Anthony been compelled to cut a client off the air. That was when a judge from Pennsylvania got so worked up about his marital problem that he kept bleakly describing it in uninhibited language. The Good Will Hour dates from 1937, has been piped out of WMCA to an NBC network since early this year. Last fortnight it finished its 200th performance on the air.

Although Mr. Anthony's grammar is frequently dubious, and his off-the-air accent is close to pure Broadwayese, he is convinced that he is far ahead of his professional rivals. Since he began, he has passed the ex-convict Marion Sayle Taylor (The Voice of Experience) and left his "Good Will" predecessor A. L. Alexander far behind. Mr. Alexander is now running something called the Board of Mediation over Manhattan's WHN, and Mr. Anthony regards any comparison between him and the mediator as preposterous. As a matter of fact, he thinks he is essentially more experienced than most orthodox psychiatrists. "I learn in five minutes," he says, "what it takes them ten years to find out."

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