Fun With Fireflies

The first few years of the Silly Symphonies really did feature silliness. That was the whole point of them. None of that “illusion of life” stuff.

Here’s a good example from “Night” (released April 1930). Fireflies are dancing to the immortal song “Glow Worm.” They’re twanging their necks like jew’s harps.



Their heads get cut off and leap into the air.



The heads land upside down on the other’s body. No matter. They bounce back onto their proper bodies.



The glow worms ballet jump off stage, leaving their shoes behind.



The shoes leap up, blink their holes like eyes, and then tap their way off stage. End of song.



I’ll take the fun Disney over the am-I-impressing-you-with-this-old-mill-cartoon Disney any day.

Sometimes Jolly Jack

He appeared on game shows, variety shows, late-night talk shows. He was interviewed by Ed Murrow on Person To Person, filled in for Johnny Carson on the Tonight show, and hosted one of the earliest variety shows in network television.

Jack Carter did an awful lot of television over a very long career. Carter has passed away at the age of 93.

As did a number of stars, he came out of one of the Major Bowes units in 1941. His career resumed after an interruption for World War Two. Television was lumbering toward expansion from a handful of stations on the East Coast (and a few others dotted across the U.S.). NBC, CBS and ABC began assembling legitimate TV networks by 1948. There was another network, DuMont, which had the disadvantage of not being flush with radio stars like the other three. It had no radio. It had look elsewhere for talent, and nightclubbing Carter was perfect for the vaudeville-like early TV variety shows. Carter didn’t stay at DuMont long. NBC tapped him for its huge Saturday night variety extravaganza, hosting an hour from Chicago before the cameras switched to Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca for 90 minutes. Caesar and Coca went on to huge success. Carter got cancelled.

Here’s a story from the American Weekly, a weekend newspaper supplement, of October 14, 1951. It sums up Carter’s career to date. It also shows Carter’s propensity for whining (a trait shared by another ex-GI comic, Jack Paar, in the ‘40s). He should be more famous, he’d say. He wasn’t getting ahead fast enough, he told Hearst columnist Jack O'Brian (he was 24). He got screwed out a gig, he’d gripe. Quite true, it could have been, but if so, he wouldn’t have been the only one in show biz that ever happened to.

TV’s Jack of 80 Faces
BY JOAN KING FLYNN
JACK CARTER is really proud of himself at last and here's the reason why. It happened on a Hollywood golf course. A small, serious-faced man approached him. "You're Jack Carter, aren't you?" he asked.
Carter swallowed hard and said he was. His heart beat faster, like a schoolboy's on his first date.
"I just wanted to tell you I think you're great," the stranger said. "I watch you on television. You're a comer."
The little man, whose name was Harpo Marx, walked away.

"It was like a shot in the arm," Carter told The American Weekly.
"Nobody ever knows me. They just know the people I imitate. I'm the man of 80 faces—79 of them you can't miss, the 80th—that's mine—you'd never guess."
IF YOU don't know Jack Carter when you see him it's not because he's shy about his identity. From the time he was a kid hanging around the amusement park at Coney Island he was shouting it out to the world.
He was raised in the shadow of the roller coaster and the ferris wheel. He could sing and dance a little, ape the raucous voices of the Coney spielers, imitate Cantor and Durante. His relatives applauded.
"This kid's a natural," they said. One summer he got a job as locker room attendant at one of Coney's bathing beaches. The proprietor saw him clowning for the other kids. "Here's a straw hat and a cane," he said. "Be funny for the boardwalk customers."
Those two "professional" seasons on the boardwalk were Carter's indoctrination into show business.
The people seemed to like his cocky grin, his quick shift from one imitation to another. The audience that heard him on the Major Bowes Amateur Hour in 1940 liked him, too. He was a winner and spent a month touring with three other hopefuls: Robert Merrill, Frank Sinatra and Ventriloquist Paul Winchell.
Often in the later months when he worked as a Single in clubs around New York City Carter became discouraged.
"Who knows my name?" he lamented. "I'm a guy who does 80 imitations. But nobody's imitating Carter!"
He had a chance to build up a better act when he went into the Army and was assigned to the "Flying Varieties" show. Out in 1945, he had his first real success as a featured comic in the hit Broadway musical, "Call Me Mister." Then television and its search for new talent came along. In 1948 he became interlocutor on the "Pick 'n' Pat" ABC-TV show.
ALL the big-timers were getting into TV: Berle, Durante, Cantor, Hope. Carter kept plugging away. He got better shows. He did guest shots for Berle and headed the "Cavalcade of Stars" over WABD. Last year NBC-TV put him under long-term contract and starred him in the "Jack Carter Show" from Chicago.
At the age of 29 the kid from Coney Island was making $1,000 a week, had a pretty wife (ex-model Joan Mann), a nice apartment, a nice car. TV was hard work but he loved it.
It was show business.
He was in Hollywood testing for a comedy role in a Lana Turner film (he got the part) when Harpo Marx made him so happy.
"Imagine him recognizing me!" said Carter. "And then being nice enough to talk about it. I'd always thought he COULDN'T talk!"

The early TV Carter wasn’t universally liked by critics. John Lester of the Long Island Star-Journal declaimed in1950, when Carter was still at DuMont, that Milton Berle, Morey Amsterdam, Sid Caesar and Carter “None...have the ‘warmth’ and the humility without which no comedian is ever really great.” Lester’s comments are not quite fair. “Warm” was not the kind of comedy the four were doing. With the possible exception of Caesar, they were loud, boisterous and vaudevillian. Lester had been comparing them to Keaton and Chaplin, who were working in a different medium with a different approach.

Carter’s NBC show lasted a little over a year. There were rumblings in Variety in March 1951 that NBC was not happy with the show losing ground to Ken Murray on CBS, even though ratings were still decent. Sponsors jumped ship. Finally in May, the network decided to try something else in Carter’s slot. (Carter spent late August doing a show at the Chicago Theatre, ironically replacing Ken Murray).

The Philadelphia Inquirer’s TV columnist wasn’t impressed with Carter’s show. He put only part of the blame on Carter. This column is from February 14, 1951.

Jack Carter Falls Short As Comic, Hurt by Writers
By Merrill Panitt
One of Jack Carter's sponsors on his Saturday night opus is a company that produces dog food, which is appropriate enough since most of the show seems to come out of a can.
Carter himself is an amiable enough young fellow. It is only that he has one rather serious fault as a television entertainer. The boy lacks talent as a comedian. He has nerve, a fine appearance, and good stage presence. It's only in the comic department that he falls flat.
CHARACTERISTICS VITAL
Every comedian should have some style, some trademark of his own. With Durante it's the schnozz and his pretended boastfulness. With Lahr it's a rubber face and a buzzsaw singing voice. With Berle it's brashness and the ability to steal material carefully. You could go down the list and find characteristics that set each comedian apart from his colleagues.
Like Hope, Carter tells gags in rapid-fire succession—only Hope's usually are original and are beautifully timed. Carter's (and this may be his writers' fault) are not new and his timing misses. Like Berle's stuff, his material has a reminiscent ring. Like any of a thousand night club comedians he urges the audience to laugh it up. But he doesn't seem to have anything of his own.

WRITERS CRITICIZED
Last Saturday night Carter's guest was ex-movie queen Constance Bennett, who is now making the rounds as a guest star. Her sister, Joan, is also making the circuit. Isn't it a small world? Carter and his writers, may their tribe decrease, had Miss Bennett, Constance that is, in two sketches, one as the chief of a government bureau testing women's products and the other in a takeoff on the movie, "King Solomon's Mines."
The first sketch, real high class stuff, ended with Carter climbing into a woman's girdle. The second had Carter doing a fairly amateurish takeoff on Groucho Marx—with no credit line to Groucho. It was all about a gorilla and a diamond mine, and as far as I know had no ending.
To Carter's credit, he knew Miss Bennett's part as well as his own, and a couple of times was called upon to speak them when the lady's memory lapsed.
WHY HUMOR IN TOUPEES?
There was another sketch, without Miss Bennett, in which Carter was a barber and—you guessed it—cut all the hair off his victim's toupee. Why, by the way, are toupees always supposed to be funny?
During one musical interlude Donald Richards sang a song titled, "Johannesburg," which led into the "King Solomon's Mines" sketch and the one joke that sticks in my mind. It had something to do with making king size cigarets for pygmies who like to pole-vault.
Considering the cost of the program and the fact that it precedes Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca, it would seem that NBC would expect and demand more for its sponsors' money. Carter might be all right if his writers (the credits listed four of them) turned out presentable material. He is not comedian enough, however, to carry a program by sheer weight of personality.
To Carter's credit he can carry a tune and do a time step. He also, it is said, has the knack of being able to read a script once and know it by heart. So can a couple of the Quiz Kids.

Panitt’s opinions proved to be without merit, if one uses longevity as a yardstick. Carter’s guest appearances on television over the following decades seem endless. He was quick with a quip on game and talk shows. He was in constant demand. Carter may not have been “warm,” but he could be pretty funny.

If you want to know more about Jack Carter, there’s no better person to ask than author Kliph Nesteroff, who spent a good chunk of time in the comedian’s good books and bad books. Read here.

50s Design Fun From John Sutherland

I enjoy the work (that I’ve seen) of the John Sutherland studio, and I enjoy some of the drawing style used in commercial and some of the theatrical cartoons put out in the 1950s. So I really like the artwork in The Story of Creative Capital, a 1957 Sutherland industrial film.

The layouts are by Vic Haboush, who started with Disney, and the backgrounds are by Joe Montell, who was in the Tex Avery unit at MGM. Both of them ended up at Hanna-Barbera.

Forgive the low resolution, but here are some of the backgrounds.



Montell worked on Avery’s Farm of Tomorrow, by the way.



This particular short has been restored by the National Film Preservation Foundation. You can go HERE and watch the film.

Incidentally, there are three voice actors on this cartoon but only Marvin Miller gets credited. Daws Butler is Alf the Elf and Herb Vigran is Richard Van Winkle. Vigran worked on a number of Sutherland productions. And this post gives me an excuse to divert the topic for a moment and post a couple of photos I have of Marvin Miller.



My thanks to Mark Heimback-Nielsen who posted a note on Jerry Beck’s Cartoon Research Facebook page about this short.

But Was It For a Cup of Coffee

Life imitates art on occasion, and a good example was in Chicago in 1970.

Jack Benny was smitten with the comedy of Frank Fontaine, a night club comic who did a character that eventually became named Crazy Guggenheim on “The Jackie Gleason Show.” In 1950, he built a whole radio show around Fontaine’s talents, which began with Fontaine panhandling a dime from Jack who, in shocking generosity, gave him 50 cents instead.

No doubt Carol Kramer of the Chicago Tribune, writing some 20 years later, didn’t know any of this. But she bookended a newspaper piece on Jack with the same kind of incident that took place in real life. It sounds like Jack was making the rounds to do publicity stories on his coming TV special but, as it always seemed to be the case, interview ending up touching on other topics. The story was published by the Chicago Tribune News Service on November 15, 1970.

I don’t know how much exposure Stephen Leacock got in the U.S., but Jack certainly knew his work. In Canada, his short stories were read in elementary school some 50 years ago.

Jack Benny...he’s really a very generous man.
By Carol Kramer
A hippie walks up to Jack Benny, who’s strolling down Madison Avenue, and says, “Mister, could you give me 50 cents?”
It sounds like a variation of the famous Benny joke about the thief who says to him, “Your money or your life,” and Jack answers, “Let me think about it.”
Surprise!! Jack didn’t think about it for an instant. He just reached into his pocket and gave the kid 50 cents. As he walked away, Jack grinned and said, “He’ll probably spend it on dope—if he can get any for 50 cents.”
There goes that myth, carefully built up in the 76-year-old comedian’s long career. Of course, we all suspected that it was untrue and when you ask Jack what he thinks his biggest virtue is, he pauses for a while, and says, “I think I’m fairly generous.” And if you asked Mary Livingstone, she’d “probably say I’m kind, which includes being generous, I suppose.”
Jack and Mary were in New York recently because he was being honored at a “Salute to Jack Benny” sponsored by the Manhattan School of Music for raising $5 million for symphony orchestras in the last 14 years.

“It was a real class show,” Jack said the next afternoon as we drove to a photo session. He was posing for a series of ads and had brought his bright blue sports jacket—the one that Mary thinks is too loud. And yes, it does match those baby blue eyes, and when you tell him, he smiles proudly.
But that’s almost the only trace of vanity you can find in Jack Benny. He’s become an institution during his long career being vain, cheap and 39. He still is 39. I know because as we were strolling down the street after the photo session a couple of women recognized him and asked for autographs. “Are you still 35, Mr. Benny?” one of them asked. “No,” he smiled. “39.” And they giggled.
Tomorrow Jack will celebrate his 20th year in television with an anniversary special. His television career really began on Oct. 28, 1950, and he’d already been on radio for 18 years.
Mary hasn’t been seen professionally for 14 years because stage fright finally got the best of her. But she will be on the anniversary show. Her segment was taped in September and she was given the right of approval. But she liked it, much to the surprise of her husband. “Boy, when Mary likes something, it must be good.” She'll be seen in a sketch with Lucille Ball, who plays her maid.
Other guests will be Bob Hope, who won’t discuss politics [“Being my anniversary, he’s only going to talk about me,” Jack says], Frank Sinatra and Dinah Shore. And it wouldn’t be a Jack Benny show without Eddie Rochester Anderson, Don Wilson, Dennis Day, Mel Blanc and the other regulars. They only get together when Jack does a show. “We like each other,” he says, “but we don't have much in common.”
He’s also not particularly funny. His friend, George Burns, the man he’s been trying to make laugh for years and years, is funny in person. As Jack was having his picture taken, the photographer asked if he could pose sitting on the floor with his legs crossed.
“I don’t think that’s such a difficult trick,” he replied dryly. “I couldn’t stand on my head, tho.” Then he added, “If you asked George Burns that question, he could do 49 minutes on it.”
It’s true that George still does the match bit. Whenever they’re at a party and he sees Jack lighting a cigaret, he shouts, “Quiet everyone, Benny is going to do his match bit.” Jack just smiled to himself thinking of that.
We were walking back to his hotel, a 14-block walk, as people recognized him and shouted “Hello, Mr. Benny.” The hippie was probably the only one who didn’t know it was Jack Benny.
We talked about his favorite comedians. He loves the writings of the Canadian humorist, Stephen Leacock. “I’ve read everything he’s written four times over.” And he’s a Bob and Ray fan. “I’ve always meant to send them a fan letter. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
When I asked Jack if he would like to make a movie again [remember “Buck Benny Rides Again”?] he said, “Who would pay to see me?” further reducing that image of vanity.
He does go to the movies, however. His friends talked about “I Am Curious, Yellow” so much that he finally went to see it because he didn’t believe what they were saying about it.
“It was really boring and the people weren’t even good looking. I don’t know how people can perform like that in front of the cameras. It’s hard enough for me to do it without an audience."
Then we talked about his career. He’s proudest of his ability as an editor of humor. “Writers of humor say I am.” And he’s very critical of his own performances.
“The best thing about my career,” he says, “is that it’s lasted so long.”
And maybe some day he’ll make George Burns laugh.
[Chicago Tribune Press Service]

The World of Animation, 1930

1930 was a year of change in the world of theatrical animation. Ub Iwerks opened his own studio. Charlie Mintz moved his entire studio (minus a few staffers) from New York City to Los Angeles. And, the most important development, Hugh Harman and Rudy Ising signed a contract with Leon Schlesinger to make cartoons for release by Warner Bros.

With the coming of sound, the rise of Walt Disney’s Mickey Mouse and the expansion of animated cartoon studios, in spite of the Depression, sparked a number of newspaper feature stories about the industry in 1930. One we haven’t reprinted here, until now, is from Billboard of July 12th. The paper was very much an entertainment publication in those days; it didn’t decide to focus exclusively on music until rock and roll came about. It gives a pretty good summary of the theatrical cartoon situation at the time. The trade ads accompanying this story are from Variety.

Cartoon Film Demands Increased Productions
Comedy featurettes so heavy in making that they become an industry with an industry—demand for children’s entertainment has numerous producers in field.
NEW YORK, July 7—The increased popularity of animated cartoons, among exhibitors and patrons of motion picture houses in this country, has developed to such an extent that marked activity of the producer’s part to turn out this product is noted. There are no less than five of the major-producing firms today which are producing from one to three different sets of series of the cartoon short subjects. Independent producers add about seven more to the catalog of animated cartoons available to exhibitors today.
The popularity of this type of entertainment with the youngsters who read the Sunday comic sheets, and with a large percentage of grownups in motion picture audiences, is said to be responsible in part for their increased production. A new and enlarged medium of humor expression has been developed via the cartoon talkies, some producers even making them in four languages, introducing Technicolor sequences and stressing their important to exhibitors almost as much as the feature-length productions.
The growth of animated cartoons, since the experimental days of the silent with the Inkwell series and the Max Fleishman [sic] Felix the Kat [sic] cartoons, has been contemporaneous and equally as remarkable as the growth of the sound and dialog films from the nickelodeon days. Large plants and enormous staffs, devoted exclusively to the making of animated cartoons with sound, color and dialog, have been established for production in various parts of the country. Considerable technical equipment has been evolved for the making of these cartoons, and today it has become an industry within an industry. Writers, artists, technicians, cameramen, sound engineers and directors are engaged with nearly a score of companies in manufacturing these short subjects, not to speak opf clerical, sales and laboratory help required to make and market the product.
Among the major producers actively engaged in making animated sound cartoons are Pathe, with its Aesop’s Sound Fables, known since the silent era as Aesop’s Fables, and today developed to a high degree by the Van Beuren Corporation thru the Pathe release; Paramount with its Talkartoon Series; Warner Bros. with a Looney Tunes Series, created by Hugh Harman and Rudolph Ising, and designed as special song pluggers for the feature picture theme songs; Universal, with three distinct series, including Oswald the Rabbit, Fanny the Mule and a series known as Strange as it Seems, created by John Hix and released thru “U” by special arrangement with the McClure Syndicate, and Education, with its series of Paul Terry-Toons. The chief independent producers of the cartoons are Columbia, with two series, the Disney Silly Symphonies and the Krazy Kat Kartoons, and among the State-right producers, Celebrity Productions, releasing the Micky Mouse Cartoons; Copley Films, releasing Felix the Cat series, and Cinema Cartoons, releasing Bonzo the Puppy Dog, created by George E. Studdy.
Sound and dialog cartoons have necessitated a new technique in originality of design, selection of subject matter, musical accompaniment, distribution and exploitation. As to originality, many of them were born in motion pictures in the days of the silents and have merely been improved upon with sound and dialog. Others were inspired from or deliberately purchased from the newspaper cartoon strips, while some were conceived purely as competitive invitations.
Selection of subject matter has been developed to a high degree thru various stages of experimentation with audience reaction and novelty of plot. Many are intended merely as mediums for song plugging, others for humorous program fillers and some even for advertising purposes. Occasionally suggestive matter is injected into the continuity, but public taste is gradually eliminating this practice by protesting to exhibitors. It is reported that the public demands the producer keeps cartoons clean because of their special appeal to children and minors. For the most part, musical accompaniment has been of the popular variety, with occasional classical masterpieces burlesqued in the synchronized action. Distribution and exploitation have been largely left to the exchanges, with their facilities for that purpose, tho many of the major producers have given special attention to these matters.
In line with the development of cartoons, another allied branch of the novelty short-subject field appears to be growing space. These are the variations of what may be called “Idea Offshoots” of cartoons, such as the modeled clay novelties distributed by Fitzpatrick Pictures in their Holiday Series Marionettes, created by Tony Sarg; Animated Toys, such as the Spark Plug and Katzenjammer Kids dolls, and the MGM shorts which have only dogs as the chief characters of the story. While the distribution of this last type of novelty shorts is not so large as the sound and dialog cartoons, there is said to be considerable demand for them among exhibitors and their patrons, as evidenced by the results obtained through exploitation on the existing ones.

Running Outlines

One way to move a cartoon character faster is to turn it into an outline. And that’s what an uncredited animator did in the Terrytoon “Africa Squawks” (1938). A rhino takes exception to being shot by Major Doolittle and chases after him. The rhino becomes an outline. So do the fleeing major and his English butler.



Apologies for the lousy screen grabs. Maybe Viacom wants to restore these cartoons and make them available to home viewers. Thanks to Devon Baxter and his sources for the cartoon.

Telescope Eyes

Screen Gems cartoons of the mid-‘40s were, at best, watered down versions of Warner Bros. or MGM shorts, complete with pirated characters. At worst, they were just plain bizarre.

Here’s a telescope-eye take from Bob Wickersham’s “Snap Happy Traps”; it’s the kind you’d find in a Woody Woodpecker cartoon. A young mountain lion—at least, I think that’s what it is—doesn’t like milk fed to it by a Barney Bear stand-in. Why? Who knows. Columbia cartoons don’t make a lot of sense at times.



The animation can be pretty good in these Columbias—Chick Otterstrom and Ben Lloyd get the credits on this one—but Cal Howard’s stories are all over the place. Why does the bear dress up like a mouse? Howard doesn’t seem to care as long as there’s a gag in there (when the gags fit, they’re not too bad. There’s a funny one about a mousie cheering squad that zips into the scene, complete with bleachers).

The guy who does the dopey dog voice on “Kitty Caddy” and Meathead in the MGM cartoons makes an appearance in this one as the bear. Impressionist/author/voice expert Keith Scott has speculated it’s Howard himself.

Fred Allen's Hollywood Dictionary

Fred Allen didn’t have a high opinion of an awful lot of things and anyone familiar with him knows that Hollywood wasn’t one of them. It seems every interview he gave while making a movie is filled with a litany of quotable put-downs; probably it was a refreshing change for entertainment reporters used to the same time of PR job they got while talking to the stars about their latest screen endeavour.

Here’s Fred in the Chicago Tribune of October 13, 1940. Nothing about sincerity and a flea’s navel, or oranges, in this one. But he listed some of these same definitions to other reporters in other interviews.

FRED ALLEN PENS ACID GLOSSARY OF HOLLYWOOD
Reactions to Sights, Stars Are Recorded.
Things actually change in radio. Eddie Cantor is back on the air after an absence of a year-broadcasting on NBC in Fred Allen's old period on Wednesday nights. And Fred Allen, who has been making a picture in Hollywood with his perennial "enemy" Jack Benny, is broadcasting at his same old hour—but on CBS.
After weeks and weeks in the movie capital Allen has set down some of his reactions to Hollywood, including its sights, jargon, and exotic inhabitants. This is what he has to say:
For several weeks I sat around the Paramount lot watching Jack Benny make a picture with me. [If it is ever released it will be called Love Thy Neighbor.]
To clarify Hollywood sightseeing, I submit a glossary of terms peculiar to this bizarre borough. If I help but one tourist to fathom Hollywood, its weird people, its grotesque industries and its synthetic sights, my work has not been in vain. To wit:
Hollywood—Bagdad in technicolor. Shangri-La with neon.
Main Street In Slacks.
Drive-In—A jallopy cafeteria. A pedestrian found lurking around a drive-in is either the waiter or the man who owns it.
Hollywood boulevard—Main street in slacks.
Hollywood bowl—Carnegie hall on the half shell.
Brown Derby—A popular eatery where from Iowa mistake each other for movie stars.
Movie Star's Home—The ultimate in stucco. An edifice erected on a beautiful lawn to keep strangers from getting a direct view of the star's swimming pool from the street.
Swimming pool—A demitasse pond that draws files and guests.
Defines a Barbecue.
Barbecue—A Hollywood function at which food is cooked and served in the backyard. A barbecue enables the hostess to get guests and mice out of the house simultaneously.
Director—The man who sits in a sprung canvas chair under the camera while a picture is being made. At intervals of two hours h yells, "This is a take."
Assistant Director—The man who shouts "Quiet!" before the director yells "This is a take."
Movie Star—Any actor who is working.
Double Feature Definition.
Fan—An urchin or fat woman in calico wrapper armed with a pencil and a dirty piece of autograph paper.
Double Feature—Twin mistakes made by the same—or two different—picture companies.
Free Lance—An actor who is always "between pictures," but never actually working in one.
Commissary—A ptomaine grotto on the lot where an actor portraying a millionaire in a picture retires at noon to bolt a hamburger.
Makeup Man—The only person who knows what the glamour girl really looks like. FRED ALLEN.

He Clocked Him

“A Bear For Punishment” shows off Chuck Jones’ mastery of poses in scene after scene.

Junior Bear has a table full of alarm clocks to make sure he wakes up so he can celebrate Father’s Day with his dad, who just wants his dullard family and the rest of the world to leave him alone. Including noisy alarm clocks.

“How do you turn these blasted things off?” bellows Papa Bear. Junior Bear simply goes “Shhh.” Pa shakes in frustration that he failed and his son didn’t. The drawings speak for themselves. Carl Stalling’s score builds up to the inevitable sock.



Ken Harris, Ben Washam, Lloyd Vaughan and Phil Monroe animated this cartoon; I suspect Dick Thompson and Abe Levitow were among the assistants.