Uncle Moe Plays Santa

Who would you pick to play Santa Claus? If it’s for a TV sitcom, you’d pick a scrawny, New York Jew. And if it’s a 1970s sitcom, then you’d pick long-time character actor Ned Glass.

Glass had regular or recurring roles on several shows in the first few decades of network television and almost countless guest appearances. He was one of those guy who was almost everywhere.

It’s always a treat to see columnists recognise these unsung actors. We’ll get to the Santa story in a moment. But first we have a column from the North American Newspaper Alliance, dated October 15, 1961, about one of Glass’ big film roles. He appeared in West Side Story. The arithmetic in the column is a little off; Glass was on the New York stage in the play “Counsellor-at-Law,” starring Paul Muni, in October 1931.

‘Overnight’ Fame Takes 27 Years
By HAROLD HEFFERMAN
Hollywood (NANA) — "OVERNIGHT SUCCESS," a Hollywood adage has it, is something that happens only to sexy starlets and old character actors—except in the case of the veterans it usually takes longer.
For Ned Glass, a thin, balding actor, with a nasal voice (closing your eyes you might suspect it's Walter Brennan) and an expression of pained sympathy for the entire world, the Big Night occurred here a couple of weeks ago.
After 27 years In show business, he walked into the Carthay Circle Theater—still an unknown to the crowds eagerly moving to their seats for the press preview of the filmed musical drama, "West Side Story."
Two and a half hours later, the lights went on and Ned Glass found himself surrounded by backslapping pals. He recognized a few of them.
"It was like walking into a surprise birthday party," Glass describes it. "Everywhere, there were people smiling at me, grabbing at my hand, congratulating me. My eyes got so misty I walked into two ushers and, gosh darn it, even they seemed glad to see me."
Glass, who describes himself as "the Jewish Walter Brennan," has spent nearly three decades in search of the recognition "West Side Story" now seems certain to bring to him. During that time he hasn't been exactly hiding from the public—Broadway audiences will remember him in many plays.
In "West Side Story," however, he has the kind of role that showcases an actor's talent: he plays "Doc," the owner of the candy store used as headquarters by the youthful gang calling themselves "The Jets."

"It was a tremendously challenging role," Glass reports, "and not only from the acting standpoint. There was quite a bit of social responsibility involved in it for me, too."
As most people have already heard, "West Side Story," a stage sensation on Broadway and in European capitals, is the story of "Romeo and Juliet" set to Leonard Bernstein's music and played on the today's streets of New York.
The movie version, guided with expert care by producer-director Robert Wise and director-choreographer Jerome Robbins, is on wide-screen Panavision 70 color and stereophonic sound and un the opinion of envious Hollywood experts in special effects, only rarely have these cinematic features been so well put to use. "But most people don't realize something," Glass points out. "Because this story is told from the viewpoint of the kids in the streets, there are hardly any adults in the movie.
"Aside from the two cops on the beat—who aren't able to understand the youngsters—'Doc,' the candy-store owner is just about the only other grownup in the story. And he's the only one who even begins to dig the motivating forces behind the gang kids and can communicate with them a little.
"That’s why I say it was a responsibility to play the part I felt like I was representing my generation in one of the most important situations facing our society today."
How did Ned Glass win the role of "Doc"?
"I know it's fashionable to have a complicated story of discovery, all about how I got stuck in the revolving door of the commissary with the producer and suddenly he realized I was the guy for the part but actually it was through a casting agent who knew me: he set up an interview and I got the job." The most memorable moment for him in the picture?
"It came near the end," Glass answered without hesitation. "The boys have done something particularly rough. I kind of shake my head and say, 'You kids you make this world lousy.' One of the boys looks back at me. 'We didn't make it, Doc,' he says."

Now the Santa story, and a tale of Glass’ tribulations as an actor. It’s hard to believe there was a period when he wasn’t working, but the notorious blacklist seemed to tar people who weren’t even on it. This syndicated story appeared in newspapers around December 8, 1972.

Past headaches are recalled by 'Uncle Moe'
By PENNY P. ANDERSON
"I'm saving the biggest log in the cord for Christmas," smiles Ned Glass, settling back into his overstuffed chair and warming to the flames that rose in his fireplace.
"That's a laugh, isn't it?" he chuckles. "A good Jew like me all excited about a Christmas fire."
His aged countenance reads like a book of ancient philosophy. The phrases are all there — the creases and crevices of pathos and joy — but they are mellowed by the cocoon of gentleness and contentment by which Glass surrounds himself.
Ned Glass, veteran of stage and screen for more than 40 years, now a regular member of CBS's "Bridget Loves Bernie" series, thinks it is only fitting that, as Uncle Moe, he play Santa in the Christmas Episode.
"The script said, 'The scrawniest, funniest-looking Santa possible, with a baggy suit and a scraggly beard . . .' Who would you guess they'd pick?" he invites. "I'm a natural."
His plastic face smiles from the tip of his sparsely inhabited head down to his slender chin.
"This is my idea of what a home should be," he says quietly, perusing the living room of his rustic valley home with pride. "For a kid from the slums of New York, home SHOULD be a house full of love and a warm fire in the evenings."
Every wall of the cottage is covered with some art work — some of it modern, some classic and some simple posters. Antique artifacts reconstructed into lamps are set here and there and Pennsylvania Dutch-style furniture, painted with gaily colored figures, adorns the entire room.
Glass built the majority of his unpretentious homestead in Studio City, Calif., by hand. When Ned Glass and his late wife, Kitty McKew, put each nail and plank into place, Studio City did not exist.
Building on to the cottage and creating the cabinetry within were a way of life for Glass in years to follow. It was a pastime and a way of making some extra dollars during a time when he could not find work; when the Red Scare of the 50's belted away at Hollywood and chased some of the finest actors of the era into other professions.
"I was never named before the House Un-American Activities Committee," he explains with neither anger nor of bitterness. There is even a touch of humor in his tone. His voice is thick with the reminder of the Eastside New York heritage.
"But here in Hollywood I was considered 'controversial'." He supposes the reputation began during his days with "The Living Newspaper," a brain-child of the Federal Theater during the Franklin D. Roosevelt administration, and an innovative band of artists who presented experimental theater long before it was considered chic.
The Red scare that crept into Hollywood on a grand scale could not have come at a worse time for Glass's career.
He already had made an indentation in the history of the movie industry in the movie "The Bad and the Beautiful," with what was to become the screen's first improvisational scene. The piece of film is considered a classic and is still used as a teaching aid in acting classes throughout the country.
At the time, it also inspired MGM to write a role specifically tailored to Glass in "Band Wagon."
A few days before production was to begin, however, Glass was called into the executives' offices and confronted with a dosier listing, among other things, the reading material to which he subscribed.
He was reproached for his tastes "but assured that the dosier meant nothing and would have no effect on my job."
But, he sighs gently, "the movie started the next day without me."
The years of unemployment that followed were difficult on Glass who, as a young man, had given up teaching in order to act.
During the sparse years when he was ostracized from his theatrical professional, Glass worked as a cabinet maker and handyman, and finally, in 1954, he was hired as a regular co-star on the New York-based TV series.
Two years later Glass left "The Bilko Show" and returned to the Hollywood he'd left as an escape from the sorrow of his wife's early and unexpected death two years before.
His second wife, Jean, sits quietly in a corner during the conversation, listening. A handsome brunette wearing a caftan of a homespun-style fabric, she had served up cups of steaming tea, banana-nut bread, fruits and cheeses earlier in the evening.
Glass's career has never again been besmirched since he was signed for "The Bilko Show." He's appeared on nearly every major TV series, was a regular on "Julia" and appeared in scores of movies. "Lady Sings the Blues" is his latest.
"In retrospect," he offers, "I'm glad it happened. I learned it wasn't the end of the world. I found I could make a living with my hands and it gave me much inner security and pleasure. There's always another road."

Unlike an awful lot of sitcom character actors, Glass was nominated for an Emmy (in 1969) but—and you’d never see this today—nobody won in his category because the judges didn’t think any of them deserved the award (Hal Holbrook didn’t win, either).

Glass died of heart failure in 1984 at the age of 78.