Solving the Fridge Mystery

“To clear up the mystery of whether the light stays on or goes off when you close the door of your refrigerator,” says the narrator in The House of Tomorrow (1949), “we have this model equipped with a window, so you can see just what happens to the light when you close the door.



Cut the next scene which reveals the answer. A tinkling bell accompanies the gnome as he comes in and goes out.



Jack Gosgriff and Rich Hogan worked with director Tex Avery on the spot gags, while Walt Clinton, Mike Lah and Grant Simmons provided the animation.

The World of Don Pardo

NBC radio shows featured big-time, part-of-the-programme announcers like Don Wilson, Ken Carpenter or Harry Von Zell, but at the tail end of each show, they also had an anonymous staff announcer whose only duty it was to say “This is the National Broadcasting Company.”

Despite 25-year-old, poor-quality dubs that run off-speed, sometimes you can pick out a familiar voice from those six words. The other day, listening to a Fred Allen show, it was cheering to hear someone who spent part of his career telling us what we were watching was “presented by new Stripe toothpaste with germ-killing hexachlorophine for the double protection of toothpaste plus mouthwash.” It was Don Pardo.

Pardo performed the same duties on Jack Benny’s show in the mid-‘40s, providing the NBC ident before the chimes. He moved his way upward at the network. He was the part-of-the-show announcer in 1949 on The Mindy Carson Show (“Gab with Don Pardo could stand some rewrite,” spake Variety). As a staff announcer, he read radio news and sportscasts.

There were television assignments, too, but the one that brought him his first real fame was The Price is Right. That made him so well known, a racing greyhound was named for him.

On March 30, 1964, Pardo took on a new job—announcing the Art Fleming version of Jeopardy! (and being immortalised in Weird Al Yankovic’s song of tribute to the show).

The two shows couldn’t have been different in tone. Here’s an Atlanta Journal feature story from May 27, 1961:

'Price' Audience Urged to Chatter
"It's no accident the NBC's "The Price Is Right" boasts the liveliest "live" audience in television.
"Right from the first show," explained associate producer Beth Hollinger, "we decided to break the rules by encouraging the audience to get into the act."
Until then it was standard operating procedure in television to give studio onlookers a short lecture, urging them to laugh and applaud "in the right places," but otherwise to exercise self-control.
Visitors to "The Price Is Right" hear a decidedly different pep talk. Warm-up man Don Pardo invites them to shout encouragement to the players, chatter amongst them-selves and generally make their presence in the theater known.
• • •
"The only ones who keep quiet, I've observed, are those who have been to other TV shows. They just don't believe we mean what we say. Most folks, however, get a big boot out of screaming 'freeze' and 'don't freeze,' and commenting on the prizes."
When the producers of "The Price Is Right" first decided to go against TV tradition, they knew they were taking a risk.
"NOT MANY have turned down the invitation," noted Pardo.
"There was always the chance that someone in the audience would shout something . . . er . . . embarrassing," explained Beth Hollinger. That this has never happened is a tribute to the audience. Also helpful is a ruling which keeps the age of visitors above 12.
• • •
AT FIRST, host Bill Cullen was somewhat shaken by the enthusiasm of the crowd. "I was accustomed to game shows where things were as quiet as the public library," he explained. "It took me a while to get used to the happy-go-lucky atmosphere."
Naturally, among the most excited members of the audience, are those who have a vested interest in the proceedings—husbands, wives, friends and relatives of contestants.
"There was a girl whose fiancee was bidding on a new convertible. I doubt if television was necessary for her screams to be heard across the country.
"When he finally won, she fainted dead away."

Contrast this with Pardo’s approach on Jeopardy!, as described in the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle of June 2, 1974.

Jeopardy: A Game Show for Smart People
By BETTY UTTERBACK
D&C Stall Writer
NEW YORK —Game shows come and go. Mostly, they go. There doesn't seem to be a direct relationship between their success and the ingenuity of the gimmick or the lavishness of their super jack-pots.
The game show for smart people, "Jeopardy," recently celebrated its tenth anniversary. NBC has shown enough confidence in the program's following to announce that the program will be moved to a 1:30 p.m. time slot July 1. It will bolster a lead-in slot to the network's afternoon block of drama shows. That helps pave the way for three new morning game shows, including a brand new gimmick — television dice.
Why some game shows last is tough to rationalize. Back in the heyday of radio, Dr I.Q. kept a nationwide audience interested with bright questions directed to "a gentleman in the balcony" or a "lady in the mezzanine" with nothing more at stake than silver dollars and a box of Milky Way candy bars.
But it didn't take television long to run the $64 question up to $64,000, and games shows began to heap on enough dream trips, jewels and fancy cars to stagger a maharaja. In contrast to such bonanzas, "Jeopardy," is low key. The gimmick is simple and nobody gets rich.
At least one reason for the program's success became obvious during a recent backstage visit —Art Fleming and his crew work hard, but they seem to have as much fun as the viewers.
It was mid-morning at the NBC studio and Fleming was relaxing. His face glowed with stage make-up, the rosy look accentuated by a hot pink sport shirt.
"I love it," he said with a beaming smile. "Even after 10 years, every day is different."
He stepped nimbly around the banks of camera cables that formed an obstacle-course on the small stage to conduct the grand tour. From the front, the game board looked about the same as it does on a home set. From the back it looked like something put together in a basement workshop, and supported by bare 2 by 4's.
When the board is cleared and new categories appear, it's all accomplished by three deft stage-hands, Fleming explained. They aren't foolproof, but he has more confidence in the manual operation than any suggestions he's heard for mechanizing the board. Fleming's podium and the contestants' desk were nearby — islands of color on a stark stage.
NBC pages herded the audience into thin places and Fleming headed back to his dressing room to change. A wizened old man in a baggy grey suit slipped out of the audience and trailed down the hall after Fleming. The man pressed a bottle-shaped paper bag into Fleming's hand.
"I found out your favorite kind," the old man chuckled. "Be sure you share it, hear?"
Fleming was gracious but he didn't linger. The program has its regulars and they come often bearing gifts.
In the control room, 12 to 15 production people were going in and out — using the break for mid-morning coffee or a chance to relax. A young woman finished a plate of bacon and eggs from the NBC commissary and announced that this was her favorite assignment. The "Jeopardy" crew work harder than any crew at NBC, she said, but they're rewarded with the most time off. That day they were taping two shows, the next day three. With luck, they were to have a week of programs finished in two days.
Down the hall was a small room with a big sign, "Jeopardy Contestants," where a half-dozen people were relaxing. They weren't the bundle of nerves you might expect them to be. They had watched a program as part of the audience and had been through a warm-up. The "rehearsal" is an actual run-through using questions from previous shows.
The only boredom was in the audience which was being lulled by piped-in country music. A plump lady from Iowa expressed relief that she was, at least, off her feet after standing in line for so long. A class of 9-year-olds from PS 92 in the Bronx filed in, gaping at the high overhead lights, tripping on the stairs.
Don Pardo, the program's announcer, tinkered with the mike and adjusted a script on the small stand near the audience and questioned the pronunciation of a contestant's name He cleared his throat and, with the flare of a circus ringmaster, he said:
“Welcome to Jeopardy — America’s number one game-show!”
It was Pardo's job to turn the bored crowd into a responsive, enthusiastic audience. He appeared to know how to do it. He hit them with the bad jokes, the folksy touch.
"I'm looking for big applause," he said in a confidential tone. "If they get the $50, come right in."
He cautioned them about the game-show no-no, calling out answers and told them that whistles and shouts aren't in keeping with the tune of the game.
It was a no-class approach but it worked. When Fleming entered, dressed in a neat grey suit and white shirt, the audience burst into applause. The contestants filed in.
"Don't applaud everything," Pardo told the audience. "Wait for the biggies."
They came through for him. Every time a contestant answered a question correctly, Pardo was on his feet frantically motioning for the audience to applaud.
Time passed quickly. During the commercial breaks, the contestants sipped water from paper cups or took a few puffs on a cigarette. Fleming came down to chat with the audience. Pardo had told them Fleming would answer their questions, but they didn't ask any. They delivered testimonials.
"A bunch of us are here from Duluth, Art," a man said. "We watch you every day at home."
In the control room, the production people were caught tip in the game—answering the questions, cheering their favorites.
"Come on. Mary," a robust man urged when his contestant hesitated.
After the final commercial break, the contestants filed out to change their clothes and come back for the "next day's" program.
Fleming relaxed and chatted with a group of prospective contestants who were watching from the front now at one side. They might not go away rich, but they were having a good time.
Which is shoot all most people ask of a game-show.

We haven’t found quotes from Fleming about Pardo, but what looks like an NBC news release had some words from Cullen. This appeared in papers starting Nov. 27, 1971.

Warm Up Man Called Best in His Business
"I think he's the best in the business," said Bill Cullen, host of NBC Television Network's "Three on a Match," in referring to the daytime series' announcer, Don Pardo.
In addition to being the on-air announcer for the program, Pardo has another chore—to warm up the audience attending the taping in NBC's Color Studio 6A in New York's RCA Building.
"Don goes out 15 minutes before I do to do the warm-up," Bill revealed. “He knows the regulars and exchanges gags with them. He whips the unruly ones into line. His function is to get the audience up for the show. By the time I come out, Don has them receptive."
Known also as an amiable ad-libber, Cullen was asked what he considered to be the major difference in the way the host and the announcer handle an audience. "We also play to the audience, but not as individuals as a Pardo will do," Bill replied.
The personable host has had the opportunity to observe Pardo doing this thing for many years. Both held NBC staff announcing positions in the 1940's and they began working together in 1956—Bill as host and Don as announcer—with the debut of the game series, "The Price Is Right." It enjoyed a network run of nine years and their association endured through the entire period.
"Three on a Match," which premiered Aug. 2, reunited the three principals of the successful series—Cullen, Pardo and Bob Stewart, who was producer of the long-running program and is producer and packager of "Three on a Match."
Although Pardo also is the announcer of NBC-TV's "Sale of the Century," he was asked to double up and do "Three on a Match." Since there was no taping conflict with the two series, he readily accepted the assignment. "Bob and I consider Don Pardo our luck charm because 'The Price Is Right' lasted so long," Cullen said.

Pardo’s on-air career was varied. He interrupted programming to read a bulletin about the shooting of John F. Kennedy. He announced an anti-Communist radio special that upset the far right anyway. And, as everyone likely knows, he spent years introducing Saturday Night Live.

Another job was the announcer on the radio sitcom The Magnificent Montague. It had all the right ingredients—a cast including Monty Woolley, Art Carney and Pert Kelton, writing by Nat Hiken and, of course, Don Pardo speaking. It never really found an audience and lasted less than a year. On the show of June 23, 1951, Pardo did all the commercials except the opening one. You can listen to most of his work on the broadcast below. We have also included the full programme. The second announcer on the Chesterfields spot should be familiar.


DON PARDO CLIP 1


DON PARDO CLIP 2


DON PARDO CLIP 3


DON PARDO CLIP 4


MAGNIFICENT MONTAGUE, JUNE 23, 1951.

Cohwumbia Wabbit

Columbia/Screen Gems did pretty obvious knock-offs of Warner Bros. characters. There’s the Columbia version of Daffy Duck (Wacky Quacky), Sylvester (Up ‘n’ Atom) and you might include Tweety (Flippy the canary cartoons).

But that isn’t what we get in Mysto Fox (1946). The fox, cast as a magician in this cartoon, needs a rabbit to pull out of a hat. The crow decides to take the job by disguising himself as a rabbit. And who better to emulate to convince the fox he’s a rabbit than Bugs Bunny.

The door opens and the barely-disguised crow is seen munching a carrot and, in his usual voice, says “Uh, whadda know, Doc?”



He takes another bite out of the carrot.



Crows aren’t known for their appetite for carrots, so after chewing, he looks around to see if he’s being watched, and spits out the carrot off-camera (to the sound of a cowbell).



Publicity stories were already circulating at this time that Mel Blanc “was allergic” to carrots and spit them out at recording sessions. That was made-up. Blanc finally confessed he didn’t like the taste of them.

Of course, Blanc isn’t heard in this cartoon. The fox and crow are portrayed by Frank Graham (who also did voice work at Warners).

Screen Gems shorts can have bizarre endings that make no sense. This one has a bizarre ending that makes sense. The fox uses magic to turn the crow into an actual rabbit, the fires at him with a cannon as he hops into the distance to end the cartoon.



The fox deserves to win once in a while and he does in this cartoon.

The story was by Sid Marcus, who left for Warner Bros. when Columbia closed and wrote for the real Bugs Bunny. Chick Otterstrom and Ben Lloyd are the credited animators for director Bob Wickersham, with the score by Eddie Kilfeather.

The short was originally released Aug. 29, 1946.

A black-and-white print is the only one circulating on the internet. Considering how it was originally made in colour and re-released several years later, you’d think someone has a 35mm Technicolor print.

A Close Nazi Shave

Cat equals Nazi in The Fifth Column Mouse, 1943 Warner Bros. cartoon directed by Friz Freleng.

Fifth columnists were traitors who supported the enemy from inside their homeland. In this cartoon, mice are persuaded by the Fifth Column Mouse that a cat invading their home won’t hurt them.

If there’s any doubt the cat is a stand-in for the Axis, even before hearing the patriotic war song “We Did It Before” by marching soldier-mice, the cat scrapes ice off a window, with the clear spot forming what suspiciously looks like Hitler’s hair. The cat doesn’t need a German accent; the “hair” and the attitude that a cat is an enemy of mice is enough. (When the cat whispers his plot to the gullible mouse, Carl Stalling plays “Ach Du Lieber Augustine” in the background).

A good portion of the short is a chase, which adds to the energy of the cartoon. A fun freeze-frame scene is when one mouse takes an electric shaver to the cat. Here are some of the frames of multiples characters.



This is another cartoon featuring a “Buy Bonds” poster in the background. And it includes the Beethoven’s Fifth notes that signify Morse Code for the letter “V” for “Victory” as the cat looks at its shaved body.

The cartoon has been Blue Ribboned, so there are no credits.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre: Improve Your Personality

Two big stars in one small film!

Ah, not just any small film. But one made by those teenage behavioural specialists—Coronet.

The company’s best-known social guidance film is likely Dating Dos and Don’ts (1949), where Woody Woodruff, played by John Lindsay, is helped by narrator Ken Nordine on how to have a good time with Anne (pronounced “A-yann”) on a date at the high school teen carnival.

He’s not my favourite Coronet actor. That honour falls on whoever played Nick Baxter in What To Do on a Date (1951). His acting and dialogue delivery are unbelievably stiff. Yet I think he’s trying his best so you can’t fault him for that.

It turns out Lindsay and “Nick” appeared in a Coronet film together—Improve Your Personality (also 1951). You can’t miss “Nick” (unnamed in this one) as he says after a girl walks past him: “Boy, has she got personality!” Either “personality” is a euphemism (and in a Coronet film, double entendres are highly unlikely) or he can tell what someone is like just by walking past him without looking.

But changing someone’s behaviour is the purpose of these Coronet films. In this one, Woody Woodruff learns you can get what you want by kissing up to someone. Sincerity? Ah, you can fake that. Somehow, I don’t think that was the intended message of this film.

Besides the narrating Nordine, Dorothy Day reprises her role as Woody’s mom. In Dating, Woody’s first name was Alan. Here, it’s Bill. They weren’t big on continuity back then (and in a Coronet film, why bother?).

The opening of this print is the victim of a splice, but anyone who knows their Boosey and Hawkes library will recognise the opening music as “Paris Interlude” by Edward White, the same English composer whose “Puffin’ Billy” was heard on Captain Kangaroo. “Paris Interlude” is also used again and again in the Sid Davis epic The Cool Hot Rod (1953).

Things Go Swimmingly For Jack Benny

It likely won’t surprise you to learn that Radio Guide, in June 1935, announced that a poll with 1,256,328 votes had picked Jack Benny as their favourite radio performer. What will likely surprise the casual fan is the Jack Benny show wasn’t the Jack Benny show you’ve come to know and love.

In 1935, there was no Rochester, no Phil Harris, no Dennis Day, no Mel Blanc (or a Maxwell or violin teacher or harassed Christmas-time store clerk), no Frank Nelson going “Yehhhhhhs?”, no Sheldon Leonard touting, no Fred Allen feud.

What there was, was Mary Livingstone, in almost a Dumb Dora role spouting poems, Don Wilson cheerily telling the world about six delicious flavors contained in a box with big red letters, and Sam Hearn’s Schlepperman doing Yiddish dialect.

Only two broadcasts from 1935 survive (one is Kenny Baker’s debut late in the year) but, fortunately, Laura Leibowitz crafted two wonderful books containing a summary of each Benny radio show, with complete cast and music lists. The Benny estate still has scripts for each show and Kathy Fuller-Seeley is making her way through them to have them published. These are admirable literary efforts and deserve your full $upport.

The other thing the show had in 1935 was writer Harry Conn, no doubt stewing that he was the real brains behind it and anyone could get laughs with his lines (he soon proved to himself how wrong he was).

Benny had signed a movie contract, which forced him to move the show to Los Angeles.

The San Francisco Examiner looked at the show in its June 9, 1935 edition. NBC hadn’t built the lovely studios at Sunset and Vine at this point. Whether this is mere P.R. hokum, we will let you decide.

BENNY’S HOUR EFFULGENT
Jack Benny's Sunday broadcasts originating at the NBC studios in Hollywood and heard locally over KPO at 7:30 p. m., have taken on all the glamour that used to be attached to film premiers at Graunmann's [sic] Chinese Theater, with famous picture stars, stage favorites, noted composers, visiting royalty, society matrons and other "who's who" in attendance.

The luxurious limousines start arriving half an hour before broadcast time and Melrose avenue is crowded as a steady stream of pedestrians and motorists make their way toward the iron gate of the RKO lot where the broadcasting headquarters are established. This happens twice each Sunday as the Benny troupe makes separate appearances for eastern and western listeners.
Firm executives are always among those on hand. Fashion writers are present to see what the stars are wearing. Autograph collectors hover about the entrance of the studio and candid camera men snap pictures of the notables. Jack and Mary get away from the crowd as soon as they can after the broadcasts are over. After the first show, which is broadcast east of the Rockies, they return to fashionable Beverly Hills and take a dip in their private swimming pool. Following the evening broadcast they go home and catch up on the Sunday papers.
During tonight's broadcast, by the way, Jack Benny will introduce one of the latest screen "finds," 8-year-old Bobbie Breen. The program will mark the first radio appearance of Bobbie, who is under contract to Sol Lesser, noted movie producer. Benny believes he will be a sensation on the air.

Breen would become a regular with Jack’s buddy Eddie Cantor. The “Hollywood pearls” routine was a running story-line. Radio columns of the time noted it climaxed on the June 16 broadcast, which also included “a young girl who recently won the $1,000 award of the Allied Arts Festival of California as that state’s outstanding girl vocalist. Her name is Wynn Davis, she is 22 years old, and will make her radio debut this afternoon.” (unbylined, The Nashville Tennessean).

One of Jack’s running gags some years later involved his stardom in an odd film, The Horn Blows at Midnight. He talks about some film experiences in this 1935 column in the San Francisco News. Again, we leave it to you to decide if the idea of a piano-playing Jack Benny, or anything else, is true.

JACK BENNY FINDS MOVIES SO DIFFERENT!
BY LEICESTER WAGNER
HOLLYWOOD, June 1 —When is a mouse trap not a mouse trap? asks Jack Benny, who then falls all over himself in his haste to declare a mouse trap is a sound effect in a radio station.
But Hollywood’s realism has Jack baffled. In the broadcasting station you put over the idea of eating by munching a stale cracker in front of the microphone.
"In pictures,” he sighed, you sit down to a steaming meal and do a ‘Jack Spratt and his wife’ the first time the scene is filmed. After six ‘retakes’ you begin to long for the old cracker sound effect where a crunch will put over the idea instead of two dozen helpings of herring and weiner-schnizel [sic].
Shower of Perfume
"I had my first contact with studio realism in ‘Hollywood Revue of 1928’," Benny went on. “I almost lost my wife and friends because of it. We were shooting the ‘orange blossom time’ number. To give the scene realism, gallons of perfume were blown through the ventilators. It took me months to explain to my wife and the boys at the smoker refused to let me in the clubroom.
Too Many Tricks
“Being a musician or note—some claim it’s a sour one, but you know how jealous my competitors are—I sat down at the grand piano to dash off a little selection of my own writing.
“Director Roy Del Ruth—some kidder—pushed a button and presto!—the piano disappeared, which left me playing on thin air.
“He pushed another button and the piano stool vanished, which momentarily left me sitting on thin air.
“Yes, everything's real in Hollywood except the weather. If I decide to settle down in California. I'll have a tombstone made for my grave which bears this inscription:
“ ‘Killed by unusual weather.’
“And I hope my mourners will be able to read it through the fog.”

While it’s true Jack Benny “composed” a song later in life, the music for “When I Say ‘I Beg Your Pardon’ (Then I’ll Come Back to You)” was written by Mahlon Merrick. Jack got credit for the lyrics. It was his show, you know.

If there’s any doubt about the popularity and pull Jack had in 1935, here’s a piece from the Superior, Wisconsin Evening Telegram of June 19:

WEBC's scout heard a new Jack Benny story in Chicago. It seems Benny entered a well-known music publishing house to pick up a professional copy of a recent song-hit, issued free to all in show-business. The bright young fellow at the counter asked curtly who he was. Benny stated mildly that he was with NBC.
"Then," says the bright young fellow, "you must have a copy, since we always send a lot over there for distribution."
When Benny insisted that he wanted a copy, the B. Y. F. says further, “Next, you'll be telling me you're Jack Benny.”
“Why, I am,” says Benny, in surprise.
“Ha! Ha! No, you aren't. I guess I know Benny,” retorts the B. Y. F.
“You do, eh?” Benny asks, and turns, and walks into the office of the head of the music-house, returning almost immediately with a furious man waving his arms and calling upon heaven to witness if ever he had known such a stupid clerk.
Fortunately, for the clerk's job, the clerk was the man's son.
“This is Jack Benny,” he shouted. “Give him anything he wants.”
To a music publisher, Jack Benny is mightier than the prince of Wales. His plug of a song would send the sales shooting skyward.

By the way, if you want the top ten winners in the five categories that involved Jack’s show, here they are. Frank Parker was on the Benny show during the poll. The photo comes from the June 24, 1935 edition of the Evansville Journal.

Performer — 1, Jack Benny; 2, Lanny Ross; 3, Eddie Cantor; 4, Bing Crosby; 5, Joe Penner; 6, Fred Allen; 7, Frank Parker; 8, Will Rogers; 9, Edgar Guest; 10, Don Ameche.

Teams — 1, Amos ‘n’ Andy; 2, Burns and Allen; 3, Jack Benny and Mary; 4, Myrt and Marge; 5, Lum and Abner; 6, Hitz and Dawson; 7. Mary Lou and Lanny Ross; 8, Block and Sully; 9, Marion and Jim Jordan; 10, Easy Aces.

Musical Program — 1, Show Boat; 2, Rudy Vallee’s program; 3, Jack Benny’s program; Himber’s Champions; 5, Fred Waring’s program; 6, WLS Barn Dance; 7, Beauty Box Theater; 8, Town Hall Tonight; 9, Breakfast Club; 10, Pleasure Island (Lombardoland).

Orchestra — 1, Wayne King; 2, Guy Lombardo; 3, Richard Himber; 4, Ben Bernie; 5, Jan Garber; 6, Kay Kyser; 7, Don Bestor; 8, Fred Waring; 9, Rudy Vallee; 10, Walter Blaufuss.

Announcers — 1, Jimmy Wallington; 2, Don Wilson; 3, Harry Von Zell; 4, Ted Husing; 5, David Ross; 6, Milton J. Cross; 7, Phil Stewart; 8, Don McNeills; 9, Tiny Ruffner; 10, Jean Paul King.

Why Is Jay Ward in the Sports Column?

The concepts of Iron Curtain spies and science fiction space aliens are a little outdated, but remain entertaining when placed in the right hands. And, in this case, the hands belonged to the people at Jay Ward Productions.

Rocky and His Friends debuted in 1959. Its cartoons are still enjoyable. You can put dopey moose Bullwinkle in all kinds of situations—witness the “Bullwinkle’s Corner” and “Mr. Know-It-All” segments—and get fun out of them. It’s still fun almost 60 years later.

“Fractured Fairy Tales” still hold up, thanks to clever stories and excellent voice casting.

Several columnists acclaimed Ward and his staff in the early going (before moving to NBC, adding Dudley Do-Right and becoming The Bullwinkle Show). Perhaps the most unusual spot for praise was in Jim Scott’s sports column of Oct. 17, 1960.

Actually, it wasn’t unusual at all. Scott wrote for the Berkeley Daily Gazette, Ward’s hometown paper. He fit Ward into his commentary about U.C. Berkeley’s 27-10 defeat by the U.S.C. Trojans football team.

Of Rocky's Best Friend—Jay Ward
AMONG THE CAL ROOTERS at the game was J. T. (Jay) Ward. You may know him as the Domingo Ave. realtor. But he's a legend in Hollywood — though he's been there only a year. Jay's in the animated cartoon business. You've seen "Rocky And His Friend," [sic] TV's highest rated daytime show. That's his. General Foods paid him $2 million for 78 issues. Coming up are "Hoppity Hooper," "Watts Gnu" and "Super-Chicken."
I toured Jay's three buildings on Sunset Blvd. His office is in an apartment in a Spanish courtyard. There he and his co-producer, Bill Scoutt [sic], run the show, which includes (temperamental) artists. In addition, Jay maintains a unit in Mexico City, where more than 100 cartoonist ink out the bulk of his work. In his Sunset studio the artists come and go as they please. Some do the work in their homes. The most industrious seemed to be a little guy who was turning out merchandising ideas for Jay's weird creatures. Actors, directors, animators, musicians and designers also are involved.
One of Jay's pledges, Marcelle Philpott, who picked me up at the Biltmore, turned out to be a 1950 Berkeley High grad. She said that Jay's so successful because he alone can handle artists. "Artists respect him," explained Miss Philpott, "because he does only quality work and is such a warm and understanding human being. He's fair with everyone. They wouldn't work for anyone else!”
The real estate business was inherited from his father; Jay's heart has always beat for cartooning. Why back in 1948, before television had even come to the Bay Area, Jay got the idea of combining for it newspaper cartoons with Hollywood animation. He and his boyhood pal, Alex Anderson, came up with the enormously successful "Crusader Rabbit." But they lost the property when the sales agency which had taken it over went bankrupt.
Crusader Sparked It All
The Crusader's financial romp was a gnawing challenge to young Ward to do it again. He came up with Rocky, the flying squirrel. To do it right, he went to Hollywood, started hiring the best talent. Yet he made his pilot film for only $5,000. His voices include such well known names as those of Edward Everett Horton and Charley Ruggles.
"You probably never heard of three others whom we use," said Jay. "They're Paul Frees, Daws Butler and Walter Tetley. But they're the highest paid performers in Hollywood. Their voices in cartoons net each of them $250,000 a year."
You know what a copy-cat Hollywood is. You see it even in the architecture near Jay's office. A new bank, Lytton Savings, on Sunset, has a folded, zigzag roof. Well, before it could be completed, an elegant hot-dog stand, "The Plush Pup," went up next door—with an identical roof.
But Ward doesn't fear such competition. "There are lots of artists in Hollywood," he said, "but not too many good ones. Most of mine started out with Disney. It takes a long time to learn this business. You have to wait for the profits, too. But, when they come, they can be oh so delightfully big."
Although Jay, a brilliant organizer, works a seven-day week on Sunset, he still operates his Domingo Ave. realty business, still is a member of the Berkeley Tennis Club, across the street from it. Several months ago, his wife and three children moved to Hollywood. They live within walking distance of Jay's studios.
While Ward has made many cartoon commercials, he's interested only in the big stuff with the heavy residues [residuals?]. (“Rocky” already has been sold to Australia, and all sorts of merchandisers are making use of the squirrel.)
Has Hollywood changed Jay Ward? Oh, he has acquired a something of a pot. But he still has all that thick black hair, the same easy smile and engaging ways that were his in his BTC and realty days.
"This work is fun, Jim." he said. "Actually, I'd be doing it if I didn't make a damned cent."
WHAT'S JAY WARD GOT TO DO with sports? Not much, actually. It's just fun, now and then, to do a success story for a change of pace.

Ward never got Watts Gnu on the air; no one wanted a puppet series. Hoppity Hooper was picked up by ABC in 1964. It was one of Ward’s lesser efforts. Super Chicken finally got on the tube in 1967 as part of George of the Jungle, and some people say it was funnier than the title show.

The company’s cash flow likely came from Quaker Oats, as it put its brand of humour (and stock cast) into more than a decade’s worth of commercials for Cap’n Crunch cereal (ending in 1984). Several other proposed projects never got off the ground and Ward retreated into the former Plush Pup hot-dog place and opened Dudley Do-Right’s Emporium, standing behind the counter and meeting fans who had no idea whom they were talking with.

A number of cartoon studio owners or managers had no background in animation. Ward was one of them. But he allowed talent to flourish and we can still smile at the fruits of their labours.

Lightning Only Strikes Once

The Hanna-Barbara unit was still at the top in 1947 when it came to expressions, as you can see in Old Rockin’ Chair Tom.

It’s one of a pair of cartoons when the maid replaces Tom with a better mouse-catching cat (the idea was re-used with Mr. Jinks on TV). Chair has some fine lightning effects (visual and sound), Jerry faking being surprised, Scott Bradley finding a place for “The Trolley Song” on the soundtrack (as well as “Old Black Joe”), and the maid not being Lana Turner (in another fine screaming performance by Lillian Randolph).

This is another swallow-something-metallic-and-pulled-by-a-hidden-magnet cartoon. My favourite of this type is probably the Warners’ short Bugsy and Mugsy (1957), though it goes back at least as far as Cracked Ice (Warners, 1938). In this case, the object is an iron.



Here’s a lovely sploosh against a wall.



The MGM ink paint department’s dry brush artists do a nice job in a four-drawing cycle (on ones) of Lightning turning in mid-air.



As in the later Jiggers… It’s Jinks! (H-B, 1958), the meeces mouse and cat team up against the intruder to restore order by the end of the cartoon. Tom doesn’t come through altogether unscathed. As Lightning kicked him out of the house, he returns the favour, but forgets the iron is still planted in Lightning’s butt.



The cartoon ends with the two of them sharing a lemon meringue or banana crème pie served by the maid to the sound of another MGM-owned song, “I’m Sitting on Top of the World.”



Ray Patterson, Ed Barge, Ken Muse and Irv Spence are the animators.

The cartoon's official release date was Sept. 18, 1948, but title was mentioned by Fred Quimby in stories in both Boxoffice and The Motion Picture Herald dated July 19, 1947. Scott Bradley's score was copyrighted on Nov. 24, 1947. It was playing Aug. 29, 30 and 31, 1948 at the Riviera Theatre in St. Paul, Nebraska, and got a "good" rating out of Boxoffice and The Exhibitor. The short was re-released on Dec. 30, 1955 and again in the 1964-65 season.