Bending An Elbow With Bullwinkle

It’s a comforting sight to tourists and local residents alike, standing firm at 8218 Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood.

It’s the Bullwinkle statute (with Rocky the Flying Squirrel atop his left palm).

The spinning statue returned to its home last year after restoration work that began in 2013. It was created by Bill Oberlin, who had designed sets for Bob Clampett’s A Time For Beany puppet show, had worked at Leon Schlesinger’s cartoon studio around 1940 and was named assistant producer on The Bullwinkle Show in 1961. Of course, the statue and the huge block party for its unveiling were part of Jay Ward’s outrageous publicity for the show.

The story of the statue and party are recounted in Keith Scott’s book The Moose That Roared (which we once again urge you to own). One of the invitees was Allen Rich, who related his experience in his “Listening Post and TV Review” column in the Hollywood Valley Times.

We’re going to bait and switch here. This story isn’t about the statue or its party. It’s about a second party Ward threw a few months later to which he invited Mr. Rich. This was his column of December 18, 1961.

A Strange Tale Of Sunset Strip
The voice on the telephone was enticing. It said, “We would like you to bend your elbow. The Bullwinkle Show and its producer Mr. Jay Ward will be your host at Frascatis.”
After due consideration (three seconds) I said, why that is just fine. I will be glad to bend my elbow at Frascatis and I only hope they have my favorite brand. “No, no. You do not understand. The brand is only incidental to the main attraction,” said the voice.
"So what is the main attraction?” I asked.
"You. We want you to bend your elbow, put it in the cement in front of the large and imposing stature of Bullwinkle on Sunset Boulevard. Then we will write your name and the date in the wet cement and it will remain ever enshrined for posterity. This is an honor we are according to a few of the columnists, and it is a very great honor, indeed. Why, for the rest of your life people will point you out, even little children, as a man who has his elbow prints on the Sunset Strip ... you know, like the movie stars have their footprints at Grauman’s Chinese," said the Bullwinkle representative.
"Did you read my review on Bullwinkle? I asked timidly.
"Why, yes. Yes, indeed. But Bullwinkle is bigger than the both of us. He never holds a grudge.”
Thus assured, I found myself at Frascatis on the night in question. Mr. Jay Ward in person greeted me warmly. (All had apparently been forgiven.)
Curiously I asked why they wanted columnists’ elbow prints?
"Well, finger prints might be more appropriate, said Jay snidely, "but on the other hand, elbow-bending is a sort of badge of your profession."
For this noteworthy occasion, Mr. Ward thoughtfully hired the bistro’s cozy banquet room. Soon the party was swingin', complete with good food, favorite brands of this or that beverage, and a couple of lady photographers, one of whom was a beautiful doll named Miss Linda Palmer.
Mr. Ward, as host, was also his own best customer for the brands of this and that. After about two hours he sidled over and said, "You the guy that wrote that review?”
I parried this cleverly [sic]. I said, “What review?” and hid behind Miss Palmer’s skirts.
But by now it was time for the ceremony, so our jolly party at considerable peril to life and limb made its way en masse across Sunset Blvd. to the statue of Bullwinkle . . . which towers some 25 feet into outer space and cost $6,000 to erect.
In the forecourt we came upon a very energetic jaz [sic] band performing lustily although by now, what with one thing and another, it was approaching the witching hour of midnight.
More favorite brands were dispensed, the two photographers were taking pictures of everybody in sight including each other, the musicians continued to blare away, and I was somewhat surprised that nobody any longer seemed to care whether I put my elbow in the cement or not.
Pretty soon the fuzz arrived in their shiny new police car and wanted to know what was going on? They said the musicians were making too much noise. It was just like a party at the Garden of Allah (the former site of which is now occupied by Bullwinkle’s statue) during the halcyon days of kookie movie characters.
Miss Palmer, the beautiful femme photographer, asked the officers to smile pretty and took their pictures. They got back in their car, but like true guardians of the law stayed parked right there to keep the peace.
Finally, someone remembered why we had all gathered at the Bullwinkle statue.
By this time the wind was blowing up a storm and the mercury had lowered ominously. It was COLD, let me tell you.
But I thought of all the little children who would be deprived of the chance to point me out on the street in years to come . . . and bravely took off my coat and went through with it.
Unfortunately, the two photographers had at this point taken so many pictures—of the musicians, I think—that they had no film left for me, a man whose elbow marks will forever be enshrined and share billing with Bullwinkle on the fabulous Sunset Strip.
Shivering somewhat more than slightly, new horrors awaited me.
"Wheresa fella wrote ‘at review?” asked Mr. Ward.
It was then that I jumped into my wife’s fashionable DeSoto convertible—and sped to safety as Bullwinkle leered happily after me from his lofty perch.

Incidentally, Mr. Rich’s conclusion about the NBC debut of Bullwinkle was “the buildup was much funnier than the show” which he called too swift and jerky. I guess we’ll never know what Ward thought of the review.