From Pie-Throwing Pioneer to Radio Personality Before he ever cued up a record or cracked a joke into a radio mic, Soupy Sales was already a le
From Pie-Throwing Pioneer to Radio Personality
Before he ever cued up a record or cracked a joke into a radio mic, Soupy Sales was already a legend in American entertainment. Born Milton Supman in 1926 in Franklinton, North Carolina, and raised in Huntington, West Virginia, Soupy’s early life was steeped in humor and performance. His nickname “Soupy” came from a childhood moniker—“Soup Bone”—given to him by his family, who ran a dry goods store. That playful spirit would follow him into adulthood, where he transformed it into a brand of comedy that was as anarchic as it was endearing.
Soupy Sales, early 1940s.
Soupy’s rise to fame began in the 1950s, a golden age of local television when regional stations were experimenting with live programming and children’s entertainment. After earning a master’s degree in journalism from Marshall University and serving in the Navy during World War II, Soupy landed a job at WXYZ-TV in Detroit. It was there that Lunch with Soupy Sales was born—a low-budget, high-energy kids’ show that quickly became a cultural phenomenon.
With a white backdrop, a few puppets, and a seemingly endless supply of whipped cream pies, Soupy created a world of joyful chaos. His characters—White Fang, Black Tooth, Pookie the Lion—became household names, and his slapstick routines delighted children while slyly winking at their parents. Soupy’s genius lay in his ability to layer his humor: silly enough for kids, smart enough for adults, and unpredictable enough to keep everyone watching.
By the early 1960s, The Soupy Sales Show had gone national, airing on ABC and drawing millions of viewers. Soupy became a fixture on game shows, variety programs, and late-night talk shows. He was a frequent guest on What’s My Line?, The Ed Sullivan Show, and The Tonight Show, where his quick wit and rubbery facial expressions made him a favorite of hosts and audiences alike.
But Soupy’s comedy wasn’t just about pies and puppets—it was about breaking the rules. He often spoke directly to the camera, improvised wildly, and pushed boundaries in ways that were both subversive and charming. One infamous moment in 1965 saw him jokingly tell kids to sneak into their parents’ wallets and send him “those little green pieces of paper with pictures of presidents.” The stunt earned him a brief suspension, but also cemented his reputation as a lovable troublemaker.
As the television landscape shifted in the 1970s and ’80s, Soupy’s presence on the small screen began to fade. The era of variety shows was giving way to sitcoms and serialized dramas, and the kind of spontaneous, personality-driven programming Soupy thrived in was becoming rare. But Soupy was never one to retreat—he simply looked for a new stage.
That stage turned out to be radio.
In the mid-1980s, Soupy Sales made a surprising and inspired leap into the world of radio broadcasting. WNBC 66 in New York City, already home to a roster of bold and eclectic voices, welcomed Soupy into its midday lineup. For two years, he hosted a weekday show that blended his trademark humor with music, commentary, and listener interaction. It was a return to form—unscripted, unpredictable, and deeply personal.
But it was his weekend program, The Soupy Sales Moldy Oldies Show, that truly captured the essence of his legacy. Syndicated nationwide by the NBC Radio Network beginning in 1986, the show was a four-hour celebration of vintage rock and roll, delivered with Soupy’s irreverent charm and encyclopedic love for the music of his youth. It was as much a comedy show as it was a musical one, and it gave Soupy a chance to connect with audiences in a new, intimate way—through voice alone.
Soupy’s transition from television to radio wasn’t just a career pivot—it was a testament to his versatility, his enduring appeal, and his deep understanding of entertainment as a shared experience. Whether he was tossing pies on camera or spinning “moldy oldies” on the airwaves, Soupy Sales remained a master of connection. He made people laugh, made them remember, and made them feel like part of the show.
In honoring his radio years, the USA Radio Museum celebrates not just a chapter in Soupy’s career, but a continuation of his mission: to bring joy, nostalgia, and a little bit of mischief to every listener, no matter the medium.
Enter WNBC: A New Stage for an Old Soul
By the mid-1980s, New York’s WNBC 66 was more than just a radio station—it was a cultural crucible. With a lineup that included the brash wit of Don Imus, the rising shock-jock energy of Howard Stern, and the legendary pipes of Wolfman Jack, WNBC had become a magnet for personality-driven radio. It was loud, unpredictable, and unapologetically New York. Into this electric mix stepped Soupy Sales, a veteran entertainer whose comedic legacy stretched back three decades.
Soupy’s arrival at WNBC wasn’t just a nostalgic nod—it was a bold move. At a time when radio was shifting toward tighter formats and corporate playlists, WNBC still made room for voices that defied convention. Soupy fit right in. His weekday show, which aired midday, was a blend of music, monologue, and mischief. He riffed on current events, chatted with callers, and spun records with the same irreverent charm that had defined his television career.
But Soupy wasn’t just recycling old routines. He was adapting. The radio format gave him a new kind of intimacy—a direct line to listeners’ ears, unfiltered by visuals or studio sets. His voice, rich with warmth and mischief, carried the same energy that once filled living rooms with laughter. And while the weekday show had its moments, it was the weekend program that truly captured the essence of Soupy’s second act.
In 1986, the NBC Radio Network launched The Soupy Sales Moldy Oldies Show, a syndicated Sunday broadcast that ran for four hours and reached audiences nationwide. The concept was simple but brilliant: Soupy would host a musical variety show centered on vintage rock and roll, peppered with comedy bits, listener call-ins, and his trademark banter. It was a celebration of the music that shaped a generation—delivered by a man who had lived through its rise and reveled in its joy.
The show’s title, Moldy Oldies, was classic Soupy: cheeky, self-aware, and lovingly irreverent. It poked fun at the idea that old music was outdated, while simultaneously honoring its enduring appeal. Soupy didn’t just play the hits—he played the memories. Tracks from the ’50s and ’60s filled the airwaves, from Chuck Berry’s guitar licks to The Platters’ harmonies, each introduced with a wink and a wisecrack.
Listeners tuned in not just for the music, but for Soupy himself. He was a companion, a curator, and a comic all in one. His comedic timing translated effortlessly to radio, and his deep affection for the music gave the show a sense of authenticity that resonated with fans. Whether he was joking about the week’s headlines or reminiscing about the early days of rock and roll, Soupy made every broadcast feel like a party—and everyone was invited.
Behind the scenes, the show’s syndication was a strategic move by NBC Radio. In an era when national programming was becoming more homogenized, The Moldy Oldies Show stood out as a personality-driven alternative. It offered stations across the country a chance to tap into Soupy’s legacy and deliver a dose of humor and nostalgia to their weekend lineup. And it worked. The show gained a loyal following, with listeners tuning in every Sunday for their weekly fix of laughter and melody.
Soupy’s time at WNBC wasn’t without its challenges. In March 1987, he parted ways with the station, reportedly due to creative differences. But by then, The Moldy Oldies Show had already carved out its place in the radio landscape. It continued to air in syndication, a testament to Soupy’s staying power and the affection audiences held for him.
For Soupy, radio wasn’t just a fallback—it was a reinvention. It allowed him to reconnect with fans, rediscover his comedic voice, and celebrate the music he loved. And for WNBC, his presence added a layer of warmth and whimsy to a station known for its edge. Soupy Sales, the pie-throwing pioneer of television, had found a new stage—and he made it sing.
Soupy Sales’ Moldy Oldies Show (#03) | Soupy Sales | WNBC AM 660
Audio Digitally Remastered by USA Radio Museum
The Flavor of the Show: Moldy, But Never Stale
If the weekday broadcasts at WNBC were Soupy Sales’ return to the spotlight, then The Moldy Oldies Show was his encore—a two-hour celebration of music, mischief, and memory that aired every Sunday across the country. Syndicated by the NBC Radio Network beginning in April 1986, the show was a delightful contradiction: a program that reveled in the past while feeling fresh and alive in the present.
Soupy’s approach to radio was anything but formulaic. Each episode of The Moldy Oldies Show was a freewheeling ride through the jukebox of mid-century America, guided by a host who knew the music not just as a fan, but as a peer. He didn’t just play records—he introduced them like old friends. “Here’s one from back when gas was 29 cents and Elvis was still the king,” he might say, before cueing up a track by The Coasters or Fats Domino.
The playlist was lovingly curated, leaning heavily on rock and roll’s formative years: the 1950s and early ’60s. Chuck Berry, Little Richard, The Platters, The Shirelles, The Everly Brothers—these were the staples. But Soupy also had a soft spot for novelty songs and comedic interludes, slipping in tracks like “Purple People Eater” or “Alley Oop” with the same reverence he gave to “Earth Angel.” It was all part of the tapestry.
What made the show truly special, though, was Soupy himself. His comedic timing, honed over decades in television, translated effortlessly to radio. He’d riff on the news, poke fun at celebrity gossip, and share anecdotes from his own career—all with that signature blend of warmth and mischief. His voice was expressive, elastic, and unmistakably his. Even without the visual gags, Soupy could make listeners laugh with a pause, a sigh, or a perfectly timed punchline.
The show also featured listener call-ins, adding a layer of intimacy and spontaneity. Fans would dial in to share memories, request songs, or simply chat with Soupy, who treated every caller like an old pal. These moments gave the show a communal feel—less like a broadcast, more like a backyard hangout with a very funny host and a killer record collection.
Soupy’s humor was never mean-spirited. It was playful, inclusive, and often self-deprecating. He’d joke about his age, his career, and the “moldiness” of the music, but always with affection. “These songs may be moldy,” he’d say, “but they’re still fresh in the heart.” That sentiment resonated deeply with listeners, many of whom had grown up with the music and with Soupy himself.
In an era when radio was becoming increasingly formatted and corporate, The Moldy Oldies Show was a breath of fresh air. It was loose, unpredictable, and deeply personal. Soupy wasn’t reading from a script—he was sharing a part of himself. And that authenticity made all the difference.
The show’s production was modest, but its impact was profound. It reminded listeners that music wasn’t just entertainment—it was memory. A song could transport you, make you laugh, make you cry, or make you dance in your kitchen. And with Soupy as the guide, every Sunday felt like a celebration.
Today, the USA Radio Museum’s archive of 14 complete syndicated episodes stands as a testament to that magic. These recordings capture not just the music, but the mood—the joy, the nostalgia, the connection. They preserve a moment when radio still had room for personality, and when one of television’s most beloved comic found a new way to make people smile.
Soupy Sales’ Moldy Oldies Show (#06) | Soupy Sales | WNBC AM 660
Audio Digitally Remastered by USA Radio Museum
The USA Radio Museum Archive: 14 Episodes Preserved
In the ever-turning carousel of radio history, preservation is both a challenge and a calling. So much of what aired—especially in the pre-digital era—was ephemeral, vanishing into the ether once the final note played or the mic went silent. That’s what makes the USA Radio Museum’s archive of The Soupy Sales Moldy Oldies Show so extraordinary: 14 complete syndicated episodes, lovingly digitized and curated, offering a rare and resonant glimpse into Soupy’s late-career brilliance.
These recordings are more than just playlists. They’re time capsules. Each episode captures the full arc of Soupy’s Sunday broadcast—from the opening theme and his signature wisecracks to the final sign-off, often delivered with a wink and a heartfelt goodbye. The audio quality varies, as is typical with archival material, but the spirit is intact: vibrant, funny, and unmistakably Soupy.
The episodes span a range of moods and moments. Some are jubilant, packed with upbeat rockers and Soupy’s rapid-fire humor. Others are more reflective, with slower ballads and stories that reveal the depth of his connection to the music. In one episode, he reminisces about touring with rock acts in the ’60s; in another, he shares a poignant memory of watching his kids dance to doo-wop records in the living room. These personal touches elevate the broadcasts from entertainment to oral history.
The museum’s decision to preserve and share these episodes was driven by more than nostalgia. It was an act of cultural stewardship. Soupy Sales wasn’t just a comedian or a TV personality—he was a bridge between generations, a performer who understood the emotional power of music and the importance of keeping it alive. By archiving The Moldy Oldies Show, the museum ensures that future listeners can experience that magic firsthand.
Each episode in the collection has been carefully cataloged, with metadata that includes original air dates, featured artists, and notable segments. The museum’s curatorial team also created companion playlists, allowing fans to explore the music in a modern format while honoring its original context. These playlists serve as both tribute and tool—educational resources for students of radio history, and emotional touchstones for longtime fans.
The archive is also a testament to Soupy’s enduring relevance. Though the show aired nearly four decades ago, its charm hasn’t faded. New listeners discover it and find themselves laughing, reminiscing, and marveling at how effortlessly Soupy blended humor with heart. His voice, preserved in these recordings, still has the power to connect.
For the USA Radio Museum, this collection is more than an asset—it’s a legacy. It reflects the museum’s mission to celebrate the voices that shaped American radio, and to ensure that their contributions are never forgotten. In preserving The Moldy Oldies Show, the museum honors not just Soupy Sales, but the countless listeners who tuned in, sang along, and felt a little less alone on a Sunday afternoon.
Soupy’s Legacy in Radio: More Than a Footnote
Soupy Sales is often remembered as television’s anarchic comedic prince—the man behind the pies, the puppets, and the punchlines that defined children’s programming in the 1950s and ’60s. But to relegate his radio work to a mere footnote is to miss a crucial part of the story. Because in many ways, The Moldy Oldies Show was not just a nostalgic detour—it was a culmination. A return to roots. A final act that revealed the depth of Soupy’s artistry and his enduring love for the medium.
Before he was a household name on TV, Soupy was a radio man. His earliest gigs were behind the mic, spinning records and cracking jokes in Detroit and Cincinnati. Radio taught him timing, tone, and the power of voice—skills he carried into television and later brought back with renewed mastery. When he returned to radio in the 1980s, it wasn’t as a relic—it was as a seasoned performer reclaiming his original stage.
What made Soupy’s radio presence so compelling was its intimacy. Television had always been performative, with sets, scripts, and visual spectacle. But radio allowed Soupy to be himself—unguarded, unscripted, and deeply personal. He could speak directly to listeners, share stories, and let the music do the emotional heavy lifting. It was a quieter kind of showbiz, but no less powerful.
His humor, too, evolved in radio. While the slapstick remained, it was tempered by reflection and wit. Soupy could still deliver a zinger, but he also knew when to pause, when to reminisce, and when to let a song speak for itself. He wasn’t just entertaining—he was curating an experience, one that honored the past while connecting with the present.
In this way, The Moldy Oldies Show became a kind of audio memoir. Each episode was a chapter, filled with memories, music, and moments that revealed the man behind the persona. Listeners didn’t just hear Soupy—they got to know him. His tastes, his quirks, his reverence for the artists who paved the way. It was legacy work, disguised as light entertainment.
And that legacy matters. Because Soupy Sales wasn’t just a TV clown—he was a cultural connector. He bridged generations, genres, and formats. He reminded audiences that laughter and music were timeless, and that radio still had the power to move, to unite, and to delight.
Today, as podcasts and streaming reshape the audio landscape, Soupy’s radio work feels remarkably prescient. He understood the value of personality-driven programming, of storytelling through sound, of creating a space where listeners felt seen and heard. The Moldy Oldies Show may have ended decades ago, but its spirit lives on—in the archives, in the memories of fans, and in the DNA of every broadcaster who dares to be both funny and heartfelt.
Soupy’s legacy in radio isn’t a footnote. It’s a headline. And thanks to the USA Radio Museum, it’s one that will never fade.
Soupy Sales’ Moldy Oldies Show (#09) | Soupy Sales | WNBC AM 660
Audio Digitally Remastered by USA Radio Museum
A Voice That Still Echoes: Why Soupy Matters Now
In a media landscape that moves at breakneck speed, where trends flicker and fade in the span of a scroll, the enduring charm of Soupy Sales feels almost radical. His voice—playful, warm, irreverent—still echoes not just through the USA Radio Museum’s archives, but in the hearts of those who grew up with him, laughed with him, and found comfort in his joyful chaos.
Soupy mattered then, and he matters now, because he understood something timeless: that entertainment is most powerful when it’s personal. Whether he was tossing pies on live TV or spinning “moldy oldies” on the radio, Soupy wasn’t just performing—he was connecting. He made people feel seen, heard, and included. His humor was never cruel, never cynical. It was a wink, a nudge, a shared joke between friends.
That spirit is sorely needed today. In an age of algorithms and automation, Soupy reminds us of the human touch. Of the value of spontaneity, silliness, and sincerity. His broadcasts weren’t polished to perfection—they were alive, full of quirks and surprises. And that made them real.
The USA Radio Museum’s tribute to The Moldy Oldies Show is more than a retrospective. It’s a reclamation. A celebration of a performer who refused to be boxed in, who found new ways to delight audiences even as the spotlight shifted. It’s a reminder that legacy isn’t just about fame—it’s about impact. About the moments that linger long after the final broadcast.
Soupy’s voice still echoes because it was never just about him. It was about the music, the memories, the laughter shared across generations. It was about joy. And joy, as Soupy proved time and again, never goes out of style.
Farewell to a Legend: Soupy’s Final Curtain Call
On October 22, 2009, the world lost one of its most beloved clowns—not just of television, but of the heart. Soupy Sales, born in 1926, passed away at the age of 83 at Calvary Hospice in the Bronx, New York, after battling health complications caused by cancer. His death marked the end of a half-century career built on laughter, music, and a pie-splattered kind of joy that defied convention and delighted generations.
The news of Soupy’s passing rippled through the entertainment industry and across the country. Fans, colleagues, and cultural commentators mourned not just the man, but the spirit he embodied: irreverent but kind, silly but smart, always ready with a wink and a wisecrack. Tributes poured in from those who had grown up watching him on television, listening to him on the radio, or simply feeling better because he existed.
“He was just good to people,” said longtime friend and manager Dave Usher, reflecting on Soupy’s openness and generosity. Whether signing autographs for hours after a meal or chatting with fans on-air, Soupy never lost touch with the audience that made him a star. He was, as Usher put it, more recognizable than presidents in his prime—and more beloved.
Soupy’s passing wasn’t just the loss of a performer. It was the closing of a chapter in American entertainment history. He had bridged the golden age of television with the enduring charm of radio, leaving behind a legacy that was both broad and deeply personal. And while the pies may have stopped flying, the laughter he inspired continues to echo.
The USA Radio Museum’s preservation of The Moldy Oldies Show is, in many ways, a tribute to that legacy. It ensures that Soupy’s voice—his humor, his heart, his humanity—remains accessible to those who knew him and those discovering him anew. Because legends like Soupy Sales don’t fade. They linger, like the final note of a favorite song, reminding us that joy is eternal.
Echoes from the Airwaves: How Radio Remembered Soupy
When Soupy Sales passed away in October 2009, the response from the radio community was heartfelt and immediate. Broadcasters, DJs, and fans who had grown up with Soupy—or shared the airwaves with him—took to forums, interviews, and tribute shows to honor the man who had made them laugh, think, and feel.
On the RadioDiscussions forum, longtime contributors shared memories of Soupy’s impact on local kidvid and his unique place in the WNBC lineup. One user recalled growing up in suburban New Jersey, where Soupy, Sandy Becker, Chuck McCann, and Sonny Fox were “god-like figures” to grade school kids. Another remembered bugging his mother to recreate Soupy’s iconic outfit: black v-neck sweater, white shirt, polka-dot bow tie. “Soupy will definitely be missed,” one post read. “Maybe we should organize a huge pie fight in his honor.”
Others reflected on Soupy’s radio work with curiosity and admiration. “What an odd sandwich he must have made on WNBC in the ’80s,” one user mused, “slotted between Stern and Imus.” It was a reminder of how Soupy’s comedic style—gentle, whimsical, and inclusive—stood apart from the shock jocks of the era. He was a throwback, yes, but also a breath of fresh air.
Industry veterans noted that while Soupy’s television fame often overshadowed his radio contributions, his presence on the dial was no less significant. He brought personality, unpredictability, and a deep love of music to every broadcast. His passing was felt not just as the loss of a performer, but as the silencing of a voice that had made radio feel human.
In the days following his death, tributes aired across stations, and fans dug into aircheck archives to hear Soupy’s voice again. The laughter, the stories, the music—it was all still there, preserved in reels of tape, on records and memory. And for many, that was the greatest comfort: knowing that Soupy hadn’t really gone silent. He was still on the air, somewhere, reminding us to laugh a little and carry on with a smile.
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