The Start and Sufferings of Soupy Sales

Every five years, we post something about Soupy Sales. Five years are up, so it’s time for another post.

Soupy made his name on television in Detroit, then got national exposure as a temporary replacement for Kukla, Fran and Ollie in 1955. His career took him to California and New York, which begat a novelty record and craze called "The Mouse," then into syndicated television with a kids show, and then on the panel of the Wally Bruner/Larry Blyden version of What’s My Line?, with other game shows to follow.

A feature story was devoted to him in the Detroit Free Press on Nov. 22, 1953.

HE ENJOYS TV SUCCESS
Show Business Is Soupy’s Life
BY BETTELOU PETERSON
Free Press Radio-TV Writer
“If you're doing something you like to do, you're a success regardless of how much money you make." So says Soupy Sales.
By his own measuring stick, Soupy must be the most successful man in Detroit. As the proprietor of WXYZ-TV's 12 O'Clock Comics and Soupy's On, he is knee deep in the things he likes best: Kids, singing, dancing and, above all, show business.
• • •
BACK IN HIS HIGH school days in Huntington, W. Vs., when he first felt the lure of entertainment world, Soupy's dad used to say "Go into a profession, go into a profession."
Soupy had three fine examples: his three older brothers, Richard, the eldest, is dentist in Bethesda, Md.; Leonard is a doctor in Kingston, Pa., and Jack, who is next to Soupy in age, is a lawyer in Lancaster, Pa.
But the show business bug bit hard and Soupy has never considered anything else for his life's work. In Huntington, be dipped into radio on a 15-minute local talent show.
In high school, too, he picked up his nickname, Soupy. He was born Milton Hines (on Jan. 8, 1926 in Franklinton, N. C., so that southern accent to genuine). Although the spelling of his last name differed from that of the gentleman with 57 Varieties, the kids thought the coincidence of pronunciation was too good to miss.
• • •
SOUPY GOT in one year of college at Marshall College in Huntington, before the Navy tapped him in 1944. He served 26 months, 12 of them is the Pacific. Then back to college, where be started a show called Man on the Campus for Huntington's radio station WHTN. He doubled as continuity writer and announcer.
After graduation in 1949, he turned to radio full time, but a disagreement with the station manager bounced him out of a job.
In rapid succession, he worked in nightclubs, went back to radio briefly in Huntington, moved to Cincinnati's TV station WKRC, transferred to Cleveland doing both radio and TV work.
• • •
IT WAS ONLY eight months ago he walked into WXYZ for an audition, anxious to try his talent before a larger audience than Cleveland offered.
John Pival of WXYZ had an idea for a noontime show for children, and, impressed with Soupy's work with teenagers in Cincinnati, thought he was the ideal person of the show.
Pival decided a new last name was necessary. After much thought, a run through two telephone books, Pival said, "Chic Sales was a fine old comedian. Your name is Soupy Sales."
Last March 16, Soupy was introduced to Detroit's young fry. In no time he'd changed their lives and they'd changed his.
Stacks of mail from happy mothers tell how youngsters have learned to like the foods Soupy puts on his daily lunch menu; how sick children will eat only for Soupy.
And Soupy and his director Jack Schwartz have learned something about nutrition thinking up their daily menus. Soupy, in fact, finds he has to order only the most balanced and healthful meals when dining out. Too many times, he's found a small fan watching with interest as be tackles his food.
• • •
HIS DAYS ARE bounded in the morning by the Comics show and in the evening by the variety show. An hour's rehearsal before each comic session is followed by a long session in the screening room after the show to select the next day's films.
“You've got to be careful,” says Soupy, "those old movies are full of stuff that a child should never see. Sometimes it takes hours before we have enough footage for the program."
That finished, he goes home for a rest and a romp with young son Tony, 2, and the family Great Dane. Mrs. Sales is a Huntington girl Soupy married before he went to Cincinnati. They worked together in TV there, but she has retired now to be just Mrs. Sales.
• • •
THE SALES HOME is a mecca for youngsters. They just like to watch Soupy as he comes and goes. Occasionally one will push the doorbell and ask for an autograph.
Not so long ago, Soupy recognized one little boy as a steady customer for autographs. “What are you doing with them,” he wanted to know. "I'm selling 'em for five cents apiece,' the enterprising young man told him. After supper Soupy beads back to WXYZ-TV's Maccabees studios and begins preparations for his evening show. It’s long after midnight before he gets home again.

As we indicated above, Soupy went on to a pretty good career. But as time went on, he got resentful. He told Susan Holmes of the Free Press in a story published July 11, 1971. “I realize I’ve done 20 times better and I’m making 20 times more than an awful lot of people who have been in this business as long as I have. I also know there are lots more people making far more money than I am.”

In a string of interviews, he practically obsessed about Laugh-In. Mary Wood of the Cincinnati Post got this opinion out of him (published Oct. 20, 1971): “I’ve always thought that Steve Allen, Ernie Kovacs and I were ahead of our time. A lot of people put me down for my comedy, but they stole a lot of my ideas—the pie throwing and I noticed the bare wound up on Andy Williams show. I started ‘You Bet Your Sweet Bippy’ which Laugh-In took over.

To columnist Roger Doughty in the Poughkeepsie Journal on Aug. 16, 1970, he added. “Since I practically invented it, it seems funny to me that I was never invited to appear on “Laugh-In.’” He continued: “I don’t want to knock anybody, but look at Tim Conway. He did a special last year and it went over well so the brass gave him his own show. It bombed. So what happens? They give him another show. He’ll be doing a variety thing in the fall.”

Several times in that interview, he repeated “Nobody likes me except the people,” adding, “I made it in Detroit. I made it in Los Angeles and I made it in New York. So what happened? Nothing.”

The interviews were supposed to plug a CBS special put together by Ed Sullivan’s production company. Evidently he was more quotable on other things, such as a special ABC had shelved six years earlier.

Still, Doughty pointed out Soupy was being stopped by loving fans along New York’s Fifth Avenue. And Bob Talbert of the Free Press wrote on May 19, 1973: “Life needs more people like Soupy Sales, particularly the uptight world around us today. I’ve been in the private company of many commedians [sic] and comics: Jack Benny, Milton Berle, Bill Cosby, Flip Wilson, etc. None of them, and I mean none, is as totally funny as Soupy Sales. Soupy generally loves making people laugh and works at it. Most comedians will sit around and shoot lines and do pat reactions or takes, but Soupy put himself totally into being entertaining to you. A truly benevolent man.”

"Entertaining" may be the best way to remember Soupy Sales. That's what he was for millions of people. And, we should add, a mouse.

The Sneeze

“Yowp, several years ago, you wrote about the catnip scene in Cat Happy. But what about ‘the sneeze’?”

A good question. Let’s give you some random drawings from this 1950 Terrytoons short starring the forgettable Little Roquefort and Percy the cat. Tommy Morrison’s story tosses in the worn-out pepper-makes-the-character-sneeze gag. But see what Jim Tyer does with it.

Tyer times his animation so some drawings are held on three frames, some on two, some on one. Percy's head goes back, then forward, then back some more, then... well, you get the idea... before letting go. For a sneeze, this is perfect. And Tyer eschews cycle animation in this scene.



You’ll see this at Lantz, MGM and elsewhere. The background changes to a solid colour to emphasize the violence.



Tyer is entrusted with the scene before this when the mouse shakes the pepper (the label simply says “PEP” close-up in the cat’s face. There’s another fun bit of animation where Little Roquefort turns into swirls when he skids up to Percy’s face.

The Exhibitor rated this short “fair.” But if you’re a fan of Tyer’s straight-ahead outrageous animation, he’s all over the place in this one. Cat Happy is for you.

Get Lost, Droopy

Droopy is a pest, as far as the bull is concerned in Señor Droopy (1949). First, the bull pushes him aside with a hoof with the laugh Tex Avery voiced in other cartoons. Next, he twists Droopy’s montera (hat) like a wind-up toy to send him away. Then he turns Droopy’s cape on a stick (don’t ask me where the stick came from) into sail and blows him away.

Then, Droopy returns. “It’s me again.”



Droopy interrupts the bull's self-congratulation and tries again. The tail turns into a hand.



Droopy rolls away grasping his copy of Filmland magazine. He gives up the bullfight, and resigns himself to not winning the hand (or lap, as it turned out) of singer and starlet Lina Romay.

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But the bull makes Droopy mad by drawing a moustache and Van Dyke beard on Romay's picture and laughing uproariously. End of bull.



End of cartoon.

Grant Simmons, Bobe Cannon, Walt Clinton, Mike Lah and Preston Blair animated this short.

Romay had a busy 1949. She was signed to play a nightclub singer in The Big Wheel with Mickey Rooney, Hattie McDaniel and Dick “Whoa Nellie!” Lane for United Artists and The Lady Takes a Sailor for Warners with Eve Arden, Fred Clark and Bill Frawley. She was also injured in a car crash in May.

Yes, she did appear on a bill with herself. A theatre in Lake Elsinore, California booked the cartoon with West of Laramie.

To the right is an article from the August 1948 issue of Home Movies about the cartoon.

Incidentally, Romay was born in Brooklyn and lived in California.

Is Being 39 Still Funny?

Even after turning 80, and shortly before being felled by pancreatic cancer, Jack Benny didn’t appear to be slowing down.

He was still on the road, performing two different types of comedy shows that had been honed and perfected over the years, the same modus operandi he employed back in his days of vaudeville, travelling to a new town every three to seven days.

He came up with a comedic stage routine he guest-performed with symphony orchestras, satirising snooty concert vioinists, at the same time raising money for musicians, concert halls and the orchestras themselves. With modifications, he performed it until the end of his life.

But he also modified his "live" TV act (as opposed to the sitcom format he used alternatively). There was a monologue, a singer, then a duet violin act with a little girl. I'm pretty certain it included an "annoyed" Jack trying to upstage her and retorting "Fool around with me, will you, sister!"

That's the kind of performance he gave audiences for a week in Danbury, Connecticut (the girl in this case was named Sonja, age 11, from Los Angeles). The local Times-News joined the rest of the media in sending a reporter to a pre-rehearsal news conference with Benny. This is the paper’s report, published Aug. 7, 1974. Jack was dead less than six months later.

Jack Benny: ‘There’s no more time for 39’
By Margie Freaney
Modern Living staff
Some jokes just aren't funny anymore to Jack Benny.
The comedian's wry brand of humor made him a winner in vaudeville, movies, on radio and then television. He jumped successfully from one medium to the next.
Now he's appearing all over the world as a "violinist," and audiences like those at Candlewood Theatre in New Fairfield are just as appreciative as ever. But Benny says he's changed his act.
"You have to know when to quit something," he observed at Ramada Inn the other day.
Gags about being 39 years old (he was born in 1894 according to Who's Who), or being stingy, or about his car, "Maxwell," are Benny trademarks. But the comedian retired those jokes to keep himself on stage.
"Being cheap isn't funny anymore," he explained in the bored ironic tones that kept radio and television audiences tuned in for decades.
"And there's no more time for 39 years old. It's all passe, corny. It'd have to be something exceptionally great before I'd say '39' or 'Maxwell,' " Benny added.
He was relaxed and gracious, clearly enjoying the opportunity to discuss his 60-plus years as an entertainer and his enduring reputation as a man who can make people laugh.
He passed up the chance to make fun of his losses in the recently disclosed oil investment swindle that bilked entertainers and businessmen out of millions.
"I didn't even know I was in it," Benny said with his patented "so what?" shrug. "My lawyers were in it. But some really smart businessmen were involved. I don't feel ashamed."
He figures he got back at least part of his $300,000 stake, and as for the rest, Benny said, he might be able to deduct losses from income tax.
Benny admitted a lot of people think he's retired, despite the annual television specials and concert tours. He appears in Europe and Canada, at benefit symphonic concerts — often arranged by violinist Isaac Stern — and small theaters like Candlewood. His act is mostly talk, although he does play the violin.
"I don't try to play badly," he insisted. "The humor is that I try to play as well as I can ... and can't quite make it.”
Benny seems to have almost miraculously updated his appearance along with his material. But when someone asked how he keeps his face and body so youthful, Benny chewed his cigar and looked over the top of his bifocals:
"When did you see my body?" he asked blandly.
And that's about as risque as he gets in concert appearances, although he said "it's easier to be funny" now than it was even seven or eight years ago because of a more permissive society.
Benny, along with his great pal George Burns, started out as a stand-up vaudeville comic playing small towns. Now, he pointed out, any comedian who shows promise is immediately paraded before millions of people on television.
And if you bomb on television, it's all over.
"Unfortunately, today, we have no place to be lousy," Benny said, quoting Burns and doing a fair imitation. "I can't even be lousy in Danbury."
But Benny really doesn't have to worry about being lousy anywhere. Even reporters at the press conference treated him with deference, pausing afterward to pose with him or secure an autograph.
Fans inquire after his television and radio "family" as if they were personal friends — as they must have seemed to those who listened to radio in the thirties and forties and watched his weekly television program for 24 years.
Mary Livingston [sic], Benny's wife of 48 years, stays home in California while he makes personal appearances. And what about "Rochester," the black actor who played Benny's stage valet? The show was later criticized for portraying Rochester as an offensive stereotype of a shuffling, bumbling black man.
"I never heard that." Benny said firmly. "People liked it . . . it was a certain love relationship. Anything that made me angry, and that I blamed Rochester for, always turned out to be something I caused myself." After a slight pause, he added, "He got a fortune of money too, which they don't know."
Most of Benny's memories are on the bright side, anyway, when he cares to look back. But smart showmen don't rest on past hits or yellowed copies of good reviews.
Wouldn't he really like to see the golden age of radio return?
"No," Benny answered quickly, "that's over.
"You have to get into whatever business there is."


Jack’s Dennis Day and Eddie Anderson were on the road that month, too, performing at the Douglas County Fair in Nebraska (adults, $1.50).

TV specials after his series ended in 1965 were different than the sitcom-ish format he adopted in his radio years and carried on into television. They consisted of a monologue, guest stars interrupting (interruptions were a Benny staple from his earliest radio days) and some kind of routine or sketch. He had another one in the hopper at the time of his death. Even then, stories about the Maxwell, 39 and cheapness were remembered with a smile. It may have been corn to Jack, but his fans still laugh at it 50-plus-years later.

Threatening a Straw House

Bob McKimson’s early cartoons are full of characters waving arms around, though it seems McKimson didn’t like it all that much. If you think of Bugs Bunny’s “death” scene in A Wild Hare (1940), the acting is subtle.

In an interview in 1971 with Michael Barrier, McKimson explained when Rod Scribner returned to his unit after an absence, he had to “calm” his animation.

Another animator McKimson inherited when he became a director was Manny Gould, who was responsible for exaggerated open-mouths and other fun drawings for Bob Clampett, after a tame career at the Mintz studio going back to the silent era. Gould didn’t have a chance to be “calmed.” He left for Jerry Fairbanks Productions in September 1947. The last cartoon he was credited on was The Windblown Hare, released August 27, 1949.

In one Gould scene, the Big Bad Wolf was priming himself to religiously follow the book “The Three Little Pigs” by rehearsing lines from it while walking. The scene is animated on ones. Here’s my favourite drawing.



The wolf strolls into the scene where background artist Dick Thomas has rendered a straw house based (I presume) on Warren Foster’s story sketches and Cornett Wood’s layouts. He delivers his famous line. Here are random frames by Gould and the studio’s in-betweeners.



Why would anyone want to “calm” this type of animation? And why are characters out of the frame in McKimson cartoons?

This is one of McKimson’s cartoons I really like. Foster’s story is solid. It’s so solid, he remade it with Yogi Bear (Oinks and Boinks, 1960). Chuck McKimson, Jack Carey and Phil De Lara are the other credited animators.

It’s a little sad, but a hunt through available copies of Daily Variety has resulted in less than a treasure trove about McKimson. There’s a June 1965 story about him directing the Road Runner series on CBS for DePatie-Freleng. But there’s also this story from July 28, 1969.

Hendricks, Blount Are Documenting ‘Space’ For W7
A two-planet space documentary, “Who Needs Space?”, currently is in production at Warner Bros.-Seven Arts.
Recounting progressive steps in American space exploration culminating in the Apollo 11 moon landing, “Who Needs Space?” is being produced by the studio’s animation-commercial division in collaboration with North American Rockwell Space Division.
William L. Hendricks and Earl Blount are producing the film, scripted by Jay Dresser, with Bob McKimson directing animation sequences. Hal Geer is editing with Buddy Eyanson coordinating film coverage.

Whether this was completed, someone may know, but McKimson spent the rest of his career at DePatie-Freleng. He was having lunch at the Smoke House with Freleng and others from the studio when he had a coronary and died, September 29, 1977. He was 66.

Jim Korkis spoke with Bob Clampett about McKimson and you can read the interview here. And Mark Nardone’s 1980 with McKimson from the Peary brothers' “The American Animated Cartoon” can be found here with an Internet Archive subscription.