What Walt Disney Learned From Snow White

Here’s a full-page feature story that ran in Every Week Magazine, a Sunday newspaper supplement that apparently was put together by the National Enterprise Association. That’s who Paul Harrison worked for, and he’s the author of this piece that I found in the Laredo Times of January 16, 1938.

A couple things surprised me here. One is that Paramount got in the way of a Rip Van Winkle feature that Disney was planning with Will Rogers. One wonders if Rip was suggested as a feature to the Fleischer studio during its Paramount release (there was a short, “Popeye Meets Rip Van Winkle,” in 1941). The other is Disney’s pledge he had given up on combination live action/animation features. He was making them by the mid-‘40s. So much for that.

At least two other wire services released feature stories on “Snow White” the same day. One has Uncle Walt busy at his desk. It appears his P.R. people were even busier.

The pictures below accompanied the original Harrison article. I don’t know anything about the guy who drew the long shot of Snow, the Prince and the dwarves. It almost looks traced.



What Walt Disney Learned From Snow White
By Paul Harrison
HOLLYWOOD
BACK in 1928, when Walt Disney introduced the little character which subsequently became the world’s No. 1 rodent, that single-reel cartoon, “Steamboat Willie,” was made for less than $1000.
Disney's first full-length feature, “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,” now ready for national release after four years in production, has cost nearly $1,300,000 to date. All the duplicate Technicolor prints which must be made for exhibition in theaters will add another $300,000 to the total.
“We’ve worked hard and spent a lot of money, and by this time we’re all a little tired of it,” Disney said. “I’ve seen so much of ‘Snow White’ that I am conscious only of the places where it could be improved.
“You see, we’ve learned such a lot since we started this thing! I wish I could yank it back and do it all over again.”
And right there you have a pretty fair idea of why Disney is Disney, why he has received more prizes, citations, plaques, medals, scrolls, certificates, foreign decorations and other tributes than anybody else, probably, in or out of Hollywood. His name is synonymous with artistic integrity. He believes that “Snow White” is a good picture and that critics and public likely won’t notice many of the faults, partly because no film ever has been made with which it could be compared. This is of no great comfort to Disney, though, because he doesn’t like an undiscovered fault any better than an obvious one.
He said, “I hope it makes a lot of money so that we can go ahead. But whatever happens, I’m going to get out our second feature, ‘Bambi.’
“You couldn’t possibly realize all the things we had to learn, and unlearn, in doing ‘Snow White.’ We started out gaily, in the fast tempo that is the special technique of short subjects. But that wouldn’t do; we soon realized there was danger of wearing out an audience. There was too much going on. A feature-length picture has to deal in personality and character development instead of trying all the time for slapstick and belly-laughs.”
THAT few people know is that “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” was begun as a one-reeler. That was about the time of the “Three Little Pigs,” when Disney craftsmen were busy with other fairy tales, among them “Hansel and Gretel” and “Babes in the Wood.” “Snow White” had been a favorite story with Disney ever since his newspaper carrier-boy days in Kansas City, when he had seen the silent version starring Marguerite Clark.
Here in Hollywood he several times had given quite a bit of thought to making a feature-length animation. Mary Pickford wanted him to produce “Alice in Wonderland,” with herself as Alice, but with all the other characters hand-drawn.
“She was also going to put up the money,” Disney recalled. “Golly!—I can still remember how awed we were when we figured that it would take $400,000 or $500,000 to do a good job. It wouldn’t have been too difficult in black-and-white—just a lot of intricate process shots. I worked out a plan. Then Paramount came along with a production of ‘Alice,’ and that knocked out our idea.”
Another time, Disney revealed, he and Will Rogers conferred on a filming of “Rip Van Winkle,” with the little men to be done by animators. Paramount wouldn’t release its rights to the story, so nothing happened.
“I’ve got that combination flesh-and-ink idea out of my system now,” Disney said. “After this we’ll work only to develop our drawing and advance our own medium. And it is a medium, not a novelty. It’s capable of conveying some pretty heavy emotional stuff, as we found out in ‘Snow White.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d cry a little with those little fellas. I hope so, anyway.
“We’ve had a few touching sequences in some of the short subjects. Remember the one about the mouse that wanted to fly, and the fairy gave him a set of bat wings? The poor little guy was in a hell of a shape, being neither mouse nor bird nor bat. All the animals laughed at him until the fairy came and took his wings away, and after that he was happy just being a mouse. Lots of people have told me they got a tremendous emotional boot out of that little story.”
Disney believes that “Snow White” is the sort of story that just couldn’t be done convincingly with human actors. Casting difficulties, especially with the dwarfs, would have been insurmountable. Paradoxically, you see, the purer fantasy of drawing lends a stronger feeling of reality.
“Snow White” also was the sort of story that refused to be tossed off in a single reel of eight minutes. The studio staff took more than ordinary delight in developing the ingratiating characters of the dwarfs. And the story department was torn by dissension when conferences were held to pare the tale down to short-subject dimensions. Pretty soon Disney realized that here was the material—action, comedy, emotion and suspense—for a venture in feature production.
Not even the statistical-minded publicity department can estimate the effort that was poured into the project. It has been a labor of pride for an organization in which everybody is young and where the big boss is called “Walt” to his face.
Disney must be the proudest of all, but he leans far backward in an effort to be matter-of-fact. He said, “It’s no wonder we have a different sort of feeling here; we’re an entirely separate little industry. In our work, we have nothing in common with Hollywood people, and we don’t live the Hollywood life.
“You take an ordinary studio and it’s full of people doing those things that are necessary for them to get ahead. There are executives who know nothing at all about making pictures. They worry about the prices of picture company stocks. They’re in it for the dough. In this outfit, every nickel’s worth is owned by my brother and myself.”
To safeguard their balance, and as a precaution against head-swellings, the studio’s myth-makers never see the articles written about their work. Disney himself sees only digests of significant critical opinion, and no fan mail except excerpts containing suggestions.
WITHOUT hoopla and with some misgivings, Disney launched “Snow White” on an initial appropriation of $250,000 and a staff of less than 100 people. His first release date was equally optimistic—early in 1936.
No great technical obstacles were encountered. The increasing delays and mounting costs mostly were due to discoveries of possibilities for improvement. Then they’d go back and make changes. The multiplane camera, developed at a cost of more than $50,000, was one of the improvements. It is a device which permits the photographing of characters and backgrounds on different plattes, exactly as players and props stand out in perspective on a stage.
Not only because of her voice, but her face and figure, Snow White herself was the most difficult member of the cast. This is Disney’s first representation of a normal human being. She had to be beautiful, and graceful in movement. At the same time, she had to be fairly simple in design because elaborate detail in facial lines and coloring produces a jittery image on the screen.
Snow White also sings. There are eight musical numbers in the picture and all are the work of Frank Churchill and Larry Morey of Disney’s staff. “Some Day My Prince Will Come” is the picture’s theme song.
So attached have Disney’s men become to the dwarfs, through years of developing individual personalities for them, that he has been petitioned to keep the little characters alive in future pictures. But Disney says no, they’ll have served their mission and he doesn't want them chiseling in on the popularity of his established stars.
The grotesque little men already have proved that they're expert scene stealers, and the studio animators have had a hard time suppressing some of them. Even now, for example, Disney is worried lest Dopey walk off with the picture, or at least with more than his due share of audience attention. Dopey is voiceless and wears oversize clothes. He’s always up to something with the mad singleness of purpose that makes Harpo Marx appealing.
DOC is the pompous, jittery, self-appointed leader of the band. Watching rushes of the film, Disney soon discovered that Doc was stealing scenes by the old familiar stage trick of “fly catching.” That is, he was making too many motions with his hands.
Happy is a fat little man with a perpetual smile and a cheery voice. Sleepy is always yawning, talks little, but is smarter than the others realize. Real boss is Grumpy, who’s actually teader-hearted but pretends to be opposed to everything, especially “wimmin an’ their wicked wiles.” Bashful is shy and fidgety, and poor Sneezy suffers terribly from hay fever, always managing to kerchoo at embarrassing times.

Hairpins and Ernie Nordli

Maurice Noble was lauded so much by Chuck Jones, his other layout artists at Warners through the 1950s at Warner Bros. get little attention. Jones leaves you with the impression they weren’t even on the same level of creativity as Noble. Indeed, Ernie Nordli originally came up with designs for “What’s Opera, Doc” which Noble immediately discarded when he returned to the studio.

But Nordli doesn’t seem to be a bad fit for Jones at all. Jones was into UPA-ish stylisation going toward the mid-‘50s, and that’s what Nordli gave him. He did it better than UPA at times. Here’s a nice background from “Broom-Stick Bunny” (released 1956). It mimics the UPA stylisation but still has a sense of depth.



Overtop the background are some animated bobby-pins in the air. Mike Maltese used them in the first Witch Hazel cartoon, “Bewitched Bunny” (released 1954) as kind of a running gag; in this cartoon, the pins even fall out when Witch Hazel is riding a sweeping broom by mistake. Here are some more pins atop Nordli’s background layouts, rendered by Phil De Guard.

There are a couple of places on the internet with more background work from this cartoon. The credited animators, by the way, are Dick Thompson, Abe Levitow, Ken Harris and smeary Ben Washam. Which ones drew the hairpins, I couldn’t say.






Nordli went back to Disney after his stay at Warners. When “Sleeping Beauty” finished production, the studio laid off all kinds of people and they made their way to other studios. Nordli worked on television cartoons for a bit. He died in San Francisco on April 22, 1968. He was 55.

Ballet-What?

There have been few posts here about specific UPA cartoons, despite the recent DVD release of the Jolly Frolics cartoons. The reason is because Michael Sporn has been doing a tremendous job analysing them on his blog. He’s put in a lot of effort and it’s worth looking at his examples and reading what he has to say. Check out posts on “Rooty Toot Toot” HERE and HERE, “The Magic Fluke” HERE, “Georgie and the Dragon” HERE “The Tell Tale Heart” HERE and “The Man on the Flying Trapeze” HERE and HERE.

Michael’s work doesn’t leave much for me to offer. He can show you the cartoons from the point of view of an artist who understands the various facets of how they’re put together. About all I can do is make casual remarks as the presumed audience for the cartoons, though I keep getting the nagging impression that, eventually, UPA’s theatrical cartoons weren’t made for any viewer. They strike me as seven minutes of self-indulgence, allowing UPA staff members to tell each other what ground-breaking Artists (with a capital A) they were.

I can appreciate whimsy and charm as much as anyone. Perhaps one or both is what Bobe Cannon was going for when he crafted “Ballet-Oop” for UPA in 1954. But the end result is neither. It’s just boring.

Conflict? It’s been said Cannon hated it. But stories need conflict. Not only is there no conflict, there isn’t even a sense of urgency in a battle with the clock to get the kids ready for the ballet. Nothing builds. It just happens.

The first half of the cartoon is a bunch of drawings of ballet moves, mainly feet. The second half is a ballet itself, called “The Apple Blossom and the Grasshopper” which is narrated by a cartoon character in the crowd so we can understand what we’re seeing on the screen. Sounds like that dreaded illustrated radio to me.

Ground-breaking? The studio had already made its own clichés by the time this short was out. It’s full of more spaghetti-limbed humans, like you saw in “Gerald McBoing Boing.”



If the studio could use wallpaper to indicate walls in the background, why not use a picture of someone’s hardwood floor to indicate a floor?



And if backgrounds dissolving around characters and characters dissolving around background worked in “Gerald McBoing Boing,” why not try it again? The background has just disappeared for awhile here and we get a black card. Interesting, Cannon staged part of the “Eep-Op-Ork” number on ‘The Jetsons’ at Hanna-Barbera with characters (and letters-as-characters) over a black card.



A jealous bee pounds her (it’s an all-female ballet) rear into a butterfly, who falls down. There are little sparkles. Such violence! Such animosity! Where’s the Television Action Council when you need it?



A curtain lifts on the ballet. I don’t know what effect Cannon and T. Hee were going for here.



Jules Engel was in charge of the colour selection in the cartoon, while the credited animators are Bill Melendez, Frank Smith and Tom McDonald.

Withers and Willie Whopper

If you’re of a certain age, when you think of Jane Withers, you think of Josephine the Plumber. Withers played the character on TV commercials starting around February 1963 until, well, they could still be running somewhere for all I know. It was a great concept. The idea of a lady plumber was new and Withers happily chirped the benefits of a cleanser to some clueless homebody. You couldn’t help but like her. She was picked over 102 other actresses, including Ann B. Davis.

Withers had been a star in the movies as a child in the ‘30s and ‘40s. But before that, she had a career as a voice actress in cartoons. Regretfully, voices went uncredited back then so which specific titles Withers appeared in will never be known unless someone asks her about it. And considering it was almost 80 years ago, she might not remember. I can’t help but wonder if she’s Cookie and the baby Elmer in the first Buddy cartoon at Warners, “Buddy’s Day Out” (1933).

She talked about animation a bit in this syndicated newspaper feature dated July 14, 1935. She was nine when she did this interview.

NASTY LITTLE JANE WITHERS HAS TO BE NICE
Now That She’s to Be Star Like Shirley, She’ll Reform
By PHILIP K. SCHEUER,
—HOLLYWOOD.
By being a very nasty little girl indeed, Jane Withers diverted more comment to herself in “Bright Eyes” than reviewers allotted Shirley Temple, who was not only a very nice little girl but the star of the picture as well. Whereupon Fox—to whom both are under contract—elevated Jane to a stardom like Shirley’s; and now Jane is to be a very nice little girl too.
It is up to future audiences, of course, to decide the wisdom of this move. Not the elevation, perhaps, so much as the reformation. They will have an opportunity to judge with the release, this week, of “Ginger.”
Trifle Disconcerting
Talking to Jane is very likely to deflate an interviewer’s opinion of himself, especially if it happens to be a high one. She is, frankly, way ahead of him. That sense of superiority you get from looking down at someone smaller than yourself doesn’t work with Jane, at all, at all. Not that she’s the least bit nasty, but the mischievous expression on her face, the not-quite-hidden laughter in her eyes, are well, shall we say, a trifle disconcerting?
Harrumph!
Jane is, I am afraid, everything we mean when we say, “a born actress.” This is partly because she is a girl, feminine gender, and partly because of her training: after she was born. The training started at the age of two, when her mother took her to a hall in Atlanta so that she could do a negro recitation. Jane got up on the stage and burst into tears. It was the last, the only, time that happened.
Two Years of Broadcasts
At three, Jane won a contest and a part in Aunt Sally’s Kiddie Revue. Pretty soon she was broadcasting over WGST, doing songs, imitations and tap dances. This went on for two years. At five Jane was a veteran performer, with Hollywood the next stop. (Hollywood seemed logical because Jane had done practically every thing else.)
She came out three years ago with her mother. Mr. Walter Withers stayed behind; it was all right for Ruth and the kid to go, but he had a prosperous tire business to look after. After they got settled and Ruth was in the movies—time enough, then, to think about coming on. Jane said good-by to the college football team of which she was the mascot, sang “I’m a Rambling Wreck From Georgia Tech,” her radio theme song, on the closing program and scrambled aboard a through train with Mrs. Withers.
Didn’t Get a Tumble
There was nobody to welcome them in Los Angeles. They pestered casting directors for eight months, and never a tumble did they get. But the radio was still left. Here Jane had better luck. She was selected from several hundred youngsters to exemplify the “Nuisance” on KFWB’s weekly Juvenile Revue. This led to her being hired by the animated cartoon people to dub in the voices of the little drawn figures. She did six months of Looney Tunes, and also Willie Whoppers, sometimes imitating as many as four voices in a single reel.
Simultaneously things began to break with the studios.. Jane played small roles in "Kid Millions,” “Hollywood on Parade,” “The Good Fairy” and “It’s a Gift.” Her first Fox picture was “Handle With Care,” with James Dunn. David Butler directed. When Butler was preparing “Bright Eyes,” Casting Director James Ryan saw Jane do some of her impersonations. He rushed her to Butler, made her repeat them. That settled it. .
Like Mitzi Green five years ago, Jane is a natural mimic. She can do 37 imitations now, and the list is growing. She needed no encouragement to do Zasu Pitts, Garbo and Shirley Temple for me. As Shirley, she shrewdly stressed the cherubic smile at the end of each sentence. In “Meal Ticket,” now in production, she will perform a take-off on Harry Lauder.
The down-south accent persists with both Jane and her mother. Jane can affect other accents—French, German, Jewish. She lives quite like the rest of the children on the block, as Mrs. Withers is fond of telling you, plays marbles, skates, rides, swims and climbs fences. The only reason she hated being nasty in “Bright Eyes” was because “Shirley is so nice.” Otherwise it was fun.
Sol Wurtzel has presented Jane with a new suite of rooms (she calls it her “bungalow”) with sliding closet doors. When Jane saw the doors she cried, “Goodie! I can play elevator.” The news that “Ginger” was to be previewed elicited a “Goodie, mother! What’s the other picture?” Once a week, on Saturday night, Jane and her friends hold debates. “Debates?” I repeated. “On what?” “Oh,” Jane said, “on airplanes, the President, other Presidents — everything.” The parents act as judges.
Set of Rules
Jane abides by her own set of “rules.” Some of them:
Drink at least one glass of buttermilk daily.
“Never talk when others are talking.”
Never say, “I can’t.”
Be thankful for everything you have.
Help mother and everyone as much as possible.
Her motto is, “Anything that’s worth doing is worth doing well.”

While her “rules” may sound a little precocious, there’s no doubt Withers followed them (well, maybe not the one about the buttermilk). Interviews show her as a thankful, devout lady. And anyone who has seen her films and commercials has to admit that whatever she did, she did well.

Wally Walrus and his Ball

What starts out as Wally Walrus playing a practical joke escalates into an attempt at murder in the Woody Woodpecker cartoon “Wacky-Bye Baby” (1948). Wally shoves a convenient stick of dynamite into a rubber ball and rolls it at Woody. He’s forgotten something, though. It’s a trick ball that rolls back to where it started.

Wally closes his eyes and waits for the explosion. Then he opens an eyelid in a couple of drawings, there are some anticipation drawings and then a take. All the drawings are on twos, except the widest expression that director Dick Lundy holds for four frames. Let’s pick it up on the last eyelid drawing.












One wonders if the take might have worked better if Lundy had the animator use fewer drawings or animated on ones for part of the sequence.

Pat Matthews and Les Kline are the credited animators; I suspect Lantz used more than two per cartoon in the late ‘40s.

Wild and Woolfy

Tex Avery loved westerns. And he loved putting Droopy in westerns. My favourite is “Dragalong Droopy.” But let’s look at his first one, “Wild and Woolfy” (1945), which has a pile of familiar gags. In fact, the ending comes straight out of “Little Red Walking Hood” at Warners.

It also has Johnny Johnsen’s great background work. It opens with a pan over western mountains, with the credits on a mountainous overlay, like Johnsen did with “Wabbit Twouble” before he left Warners for MGM. I’d love to paste together frames from some of the long outdoor drawings but we’ll have to settle for some shots. Avery has three road sign gags in this cartoon; you can see two of them below.







And there’s an inside gag in the background. Claude Smith was Avery’s character layout man in this cartoon. He never got on-screen credit, but his name has found its way onto a store that the wolf and his horse pass seven times.



Smith’s model sheet for the cartoon is dated May 5, 1944, some 18 months before the cartoon was finally released.

The No 1 Man in Hooterville

The terms “Also appearing” and “featured in the cast” have prefaced names of countless actors, but how many of them can say they went on to be the most popular man in Hooterville?

Only one. Frank Randolph Cady, the man who played general store owner Sam Drucker. He died this past week at the age of 96.

Today, the name “Hooterville” brings about snickers from perennial 12-year-old boys. But, as ‘60s television viewers know, it was the name of the little farming hamlet that was the setting for “Green Acres.” It was also not far from the Shady Rest Hotel on “Petticoat Junction.” Both shows were created by former radio writer Paul Henning who found a way to tie them in with his first TV hit, “The Beverly Hillbillies.” And Cady, as Drucker, appeared on all three.

Rustic shows somehow seem appropriate for him. Cady’s grandfather, also named Frank, was sheriff of Lassen County in California, owned a waterworks and had once invited Teddy Roosevelt on a hunting expedition with the Pacific Coast Bear Club, which sounds more like a sitcom plot than anything else. Young Frank grew up in Susanville, the third child in the family. He ended up at Stanford University and appearing in plays. One review in the Oakland Tribune in 1937 stuck him at the end of the “also appearing” list.

Some time after graduation, Cady played a season in London as an apprentice and understudy at J.B. Priestley’s Westminster Theatre, then returned to Stanford by 1942, where he was director of radio activities, and won scholarships for writing and future dramatic studies.

Cady headed down the California coast and by August 1947 was a member of the Laguna Beach Gryphon Players, with another way-down-the-list newspaper mention of a stage performance. He had small roles in films in the early ‘50s but was found more work on television within a few years. Cady wasn’t anywhere near Hooterville, let alone a full-time role, on television when this syndicated profile was written about him, appearing February 13, 1959.

LIFE MORE TENABLE SOCIALLY, TOO
Brynner Makes Bald Actors Happy
By Harold Heffernan
North American NewspaperAlliance
HOLLYWOOD – Baldbeaded actors of Hollywood would like to do something in a great big way for Yul Brynner. He’s their boy. Repeated successes scored by Brynner in a string of slick-pated romantic roles have spilled over on a number of character actors hovering on the fringe of the entertainment field. Life has not only been made more tenable socially but, more important, their careers have taken a long leap forward.
“Why, they’re actually writing baldheaded roles into movies and television nowadays,” grinned former Stanford University speech and drama professor Frank Cady who walked out of his classroom one day in 1949 [sic] to try an acting fling on a first-hand basis. One of the most familiar baldies in both movies and TV, Cady says things have been going just great for him and other smooth-headed actors ever since the big Brynner boom hit fandom.
“I’ve never had much complaint, though,” said Cady, now playing a jittery theatrical agent to Henry Fonda’s producer role in “The Man Who Understood Women.” “I was always intensely interested in the theater but at 24 my head was as shiny as a cue ball on a billiard table. I naturally thought this meant curtains.
Actually I found it helped. When I was too young to play real character parts they mistook me for older because of the bald noggin. I got juicy roles right from the start. In the before-Brynner era, I did all right, but since his vogue struck I just can’t keep up with the offers.”
Sit-at-homers are on even more familiar terms with Cady’s pixie face than theater audiences. They’ve been seeing him as the comical Doc Williams on every fourth or fifth Ozzie and Harriet TV show. Twentieth-Fox had to wait three days for Cady to report on the Fonda movie until he finished TV assignments on a Desilu Playhouse and a Sugarfoot.
Cady points out that he landed two featured roles in one big picture—all because of that head. This was in Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window,” the murder mystery starring James Stewart. “I’d just finished one scene with Jimmy when Mr. Hitchcock, ahead of schedule, decided he’d shoot one planned for the next day. But one actor was missing. He looked at me and said, ‘I’ve got a toupee back there that will just fit you.’ I pasted it on and played the other part.”

“Petticoat Junction” debuted in 1963 and Cady was on the first show. He soon became very busy on-camera—one newspaper story reveals he polished off 4½ pages of dialogue in 55 minutes before moving on to another gig that day—and United Press International had this bio on April 8, 1969.

Saga of Frank Cady, alias Sam Drucker
By VERNON SCOTT
UPI Hollywood Correspondent
HOLLYWOOD— Frank Cady, alias Sam Drucker, is becoming a force to deal with in television through sheer quantitative apperances.
Actor Cady is the balding, spindle-thin general store keeper, weekly newspaper editor, mayor and postmater of Hooterville—a big shot in “Petticoat Junction” and “Green Acres” and a growing power in “The Beverly Hillbillies.”
TO DATE he has appeared in 246 episodes in the three shows during a six-year period. Must be some sort of record.
Cady is not the star of any of the three shows. But he is the connecting link among the trio, all of which are produced by Paul Henning.
Frank began modestly enough as a free-lance actor during the first two seasons of “Petticoat Junction,” working in only 37 shows. Thereafter he was under contract and rapidly gained momentum.
THIS PAST SEASON he will have appeared in 56 shows—25 “Petticoat Junctions,” 23 “Green Acres” and eight “Beverly Hillbillies.”
A modest man, Cady said the other day, “I don’t make a big impact. I’m not a flashy guy."
This is true.
“If you hang around long enough to show these people what you can do, you have a chance in this acting business,” he reflected. “I’ve never had more fun in my life than playing this character. He’s closer to me than any other role I ever played.”
ONE SHOULD remember that Cady is not the only performer to outshine players billed above him on television.
There was Vic Morrow on “Combat,” who was supposed to play second fiddle to Rick Jason, but quickly took over the lead role.
Bob Denver outshone Dwayne Hickman when he played the second lead in the defunct “Dobie Gillis” series. And Jim Nabors won his own series, “Gomer Pyle” after stealing the thunder on the “Andy Griffith Show.”
THE SAGA of Frank Cady is comparable. But he appears in three shows simultaneously—which no other actor can claim.
Leo G. Carroll played a minor role in both “The Girl From U.N.C.L.E.” and “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” three years ago, but not with the dash and verve of Cady as Sam Drucker.
Moreover, all three of Cady’s shows are rated in the top 20.
Naturally, Frank doesn't take credit for this heady accomplishment.
“I don’t think the fact that I’m in three shows confuses the viewers,” he said. “In ‘Green Acres’ I’m one of the idiots that live at the crossroads. But in ‘Petticoat Junction’ Drucker is a solid citizen.”
BASED ON THAT, Drucker is a genius on “Beverly Hillbillies.”
No matter. Frank Cady has found his niche in television and Sam Drucker is fast becoming a popular man about Hooterville and environs.

It was a case of feast or famine. Cady’s career screeched to a stop. “Petticoat Junction” was cancelled in 1970, his other two shows were unceremoniously tossed off CBS the following year. He showed up in the best-forgotten “AfterMASH” in 1983. A year later Cady declared he had “weaned himself” from show business and “burned the last bridge” turning down an offer to co-star in a TV pilot. The third-generation Californian packed up the art and antiques and moved to Oregon for the last two-plus decades of his life.

A syndicated television/movie column conducted a poll of readers about their favourite character on “Petticoat Junction” and released the results on June 10, 1970. I’m still not sure how they came up with their numbers. Had Bea Benaderet still been alive, the result might have been different (I’m partial to Charles Lane as Homer Bedlow myself). Regardless, one viewer summed up the reason why the show was such a success.

Sam Drucker best
By CLARKE WILLIAMSON
Fans of “Petticoat Junction” rally in support of the axed program in TOP VIEW voting.
Did you think the featured actor, Edgar Buchanan, as Uncle Joe, was the most popular performer in the show? Don’t you believe it, because Frank Cady as the general store owner, Sam Drucker, steals first place:
Frank Cady (Sam), 70.8, good.
Mike Minor (Steve), 67.1, fair.
Lori Saunders (Bobbie Jo), 66.5, fair.
Edgar Buchanan (Uncle Joe), 65.8, fair.
June Lockhart (Janet), 65.8, fair.
Linda Kaye Henning (Betty Jo) 65.7, fair.
Meredith MacRae (Billie Jo), 65.1, fair.
Jonathan Daly (Orrin), 64.2, fair.
READERS SPEAK
PETTICOAT JUNCTION has an “other world” nostalgic charm — relaxing, a far cry and escape from our present hurly burly, a definite restfulness. Oh, that we could all live in such easy, rustic, simple, soul satisfying peace, with only those minor problems! — Mary McDonald, Fitchburg, Mass. . . .
What a pity the producers (who are removing it) don’t bring its actors right into “Green Acres” (as they already do with Sam Drucker and his store) and make them one big family. It would give an appealing new dimension to “Green Acres.” — H. Anderson. Bartlett. Tenn. . . .
I felt like selling our TV when I heard the sad news. No other show compares. — M Coleman, Amherst, Neb.

Off-camera, Cady was involved with the Sherman Oaks Rotary Club. His wife Shirley was in the PTA. He was an ordinary, small-town guy. That’s the way he came across on camera, albeit a bit quirky at times. That’s why he had a long career in show business and that’s why he was the No 1 man in Hooterville.

Benny and Cantor on This and That

It was evident by 1948, except perhaps to wishful thinkers in radio, that television was here to stay and that the big stars of the old medium would have to make the jump to the new one. RCA made TV sets. RCA owned NBC. How could it avoid putting its best talent under contract onto the tube to help sell video boxes to every home?

Technology didn’t exist, as it did in radio, for live coast-to-coast broadcasts in fall of 1948. Radio was the number one home entertainment medium and very few of radio’s big names even dabbled in TV. Still, the networks expanded their programming schedules from 1947 to ‘48 and radio columns were full of speculation about when Fibber McGee, Fred Allen, Charlie McCarthy and Jack Benny would appear on little black-and-white screens.

Here’s one National Enterprise Association column dated October 12, 1948. It seems the columnist had odds and ends from a couple of interviews, so he used them up in one story by tying them together with television.

IN HOLLYWOOD
Television Fails To Worry Cantor And Jack Benny
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
HbLLYWOOD, Oct. 12—(NEA)—I asked two of your favorite comedians if they are worried about television.
Jack Benny said: “I’ll wait until there’s a big coast-to-coast network. Then there won’t be anything to worry about. Of course, I’ll be on television. After all, I’m only 37.”
Eddie Cantor said: “I’ve been ready for television for the last 35 years. I’m just waiting for it to catch up with me. There’s going to be a big change because of television.
I’m glad I’m around and didn’t die two years ago. It would have been all right to get away from Jessel but not from television.”
Jack and Eddie went to Europe this summer and are back now for the fall radio season. Jack played the Palladium in London to new box-office records, just played in Paris and on the French Riviera. Then he did a GI tour of Germany.
The Army rushed him around so fast, Jack says, “I had breakfast in Frankfurt, lunch in Nuremberg and dysentery in Munich.”
Eddie Cantor arrived, back in Hollywood just in time to be awarded the United Jewish Appeal’s 1948 citation for Distinguished Humanitarian Service for his efforts in “Bringing a new era of hope and reconstruction for the Jews of Europe.”
Sam Goldwyn made the presentation. Sam was Eddie’s boss for seven years. Eddie compares him to Flo Ziegfeld, his boss for 13 years before he came to Hollywood. “Goldwyn,” Eddie said, “is never satisfied with a film scene that is good if only money can make it better.”
Jack Benny was worried as usual. This time he was worried about some straight lines on his radio show. Jokes don’t worry him too much—“We’ve got a million jokes. It’s the straight lines that drive me crazy.”
As Jack explained it, “Anybody can have jokes. It’s the straight lines leading up to the jokes that make a radio program funny.” After 17 consecutive years at the top of the radio heap, Jack should know what he’s talking about.
Cantor was worried, too—about all the adverse publicity Hollywood has had in the last few months. He said:
“There should be a school for movie stars-to-be where they could learn how to act before they learn how to act.”
Benny was still blushing about stepping out of a taxicab in New York and forgetting to pay the driver. The driver yelled back: “So it’s true about you, eh, Buddy?” Benny rushed back and gave him a big tip.
Eddie is conferring again with Warner Brothers about “The Eddie Cantor Story.” “There’s enough for 20 films—we have to pick out the best two hours of 35 years in show business.”
Eddie won't play himself, as you know. The film will be patterned after “The Jolson Story” with a newcomer playing Eddie and Eddie doing the singing.
“But,” said Eddie, “I think it would be nice to let Jolson play my grandfather.”
The only sour note to Benny’s Palladium triumph was the simultaneous opening in London of “The Horn Blows at Midnight.” Despite the way Benny himself has panned the picture, it has made money for Warner Brothers.

Benny’s television career is better-known than Cantor’s. Jack’s TV show was a modified version of his radio show and when it ended in 1965, he modified it for the specials he did until he died. Cantor’s best-known for being one of the hosts on the “Colgate Comedy Hour” starting in 1950. But he almost got on TV the year before until a deal with radio sponsor Pabst fell through. Cantor had a filmed, ZIV-produced series, the “Eddie Cantor Comedy Theatre” in 1955. But Cantor’s poor health (intimated in the Johnson column) took its toll. He wasn’t the energetic, clapping, dancing-around Cantor of 1932 any more. Heart attacks slowed him down and he was in retirement when he died in 1964.

The Legacy of Frank Churchill

The sad irony was not hard to see. The man whose song was used to chase away the blues of the Depression couldn’t chase away his own. A .30 calibre rifle ended the life of Disney composer Frank Churchill.

The animation industry, over the years, has mourned self-inflicted deaths. A list would serve little purpose and so would armchair psychology. So, instead, let’s talk about Churchill’s legacy.

Kansas City theatre organist Carl Stalling had been scoring Walt Disney’s films since the start of the sound era but left the studio in early 1930 for supposedly greener pastures at fellow defector Ub Iwerks. Bert Lewis came in to replace Stalling and then Churchill was brought in before the end of the year. He had been working in a Hollywood orchestra but had movie experience. Photoplay of July 1929 revealed it was Churchill playing the piano for Dick Barthelmess in “Weary River.” At the time, he was still living at home. His parents were Andrew J. and Clara E. Churchill; his father was a chemical engineer. The family was in Los Angeles by 1923.

Music was the raison d’être of just about every cartoon of the early ‘30s. Characters (animated and otherwise) danced, frolicked, played musical instruments, turned animals into musical instruments, with a bare storyline holding things together. This wasn’t good enough for Disney. He wanted better drawing, better stories. As for music, public domain songs were about all Uncle Walt could use unless he bought music rights. Then, someone got a brilliant idea. A Disney cartoon would have a song especially composed just for it. And it was a song co-written by Frank Churchill. The song became a hit, the cartoon became a hit, and pretty soon, everyone wanted to know more about how it came to be. Here’s a column from 1933. While the reporter mentions his own first name, there’s no byline.

Telling on Hollywood
HOLLYWOOD, Nov. 14.—“Believe it or not, Bob, my ‘Three Little Pigs’ have ended the depression,” Walt Disney confided to me yesterday. . . . “The biggest hit of any cartoon comedy ever made . . . if the fact that the picture has cleaned a cool million means anything . . . and it’s good for a half million more.”
Disney submitted the idea to his staff three times before they fell for it ... It went through the inking department in ten days . . . a record in animating when you consider it runs around 750 feet and takes eight minutes to screen. . . . A trio . . . the Rythmettes [sic] . . . did the three little pigs . . . and a member of Disney’s staff was “the big bad wolf.”
Pinto Colvieg . . . former newspaper man and a member of Disney’s staff . . . suggested the bad wolf line . . . and Frank Churchill wrote the music. . . . the “tra la la la la” last line was given to the flute and violin when the author couldn’t make a line fit. . . . And only four characters appear in it.
Incidentally, Walt is making his Silly Symphonies in French and Spanish editions now. . . . And Irving Berlin will publish all of the songs originating in them or the Mickey Mouse cartoonettes. . . . Disney has three music and three picture directors who team in pairs . . . so look for something new from Hollywood.
(Copyright, 1933, Publisher’s Syndicate)

“Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf” continued to fascinate people. An Oakland Tribune columnist with the nom-de-plume ‘The Knave’ had this to say in his offering of January 3, 1935.

PIGGIES. Still a bit puzzled over the popularity of his song hit, “Three Little Pigs,” Frank Churchill, Hollywood musical composer, today returned to the studio to start work on the first 6000-foot movie cartoon feature that will take one year to produce.
Churchill, accompanied by Mrs. Churchill, were the New Year’s Day guests of Mr. and Mrs. W. H. Burnham of Richmond.
A Chinese fable provided the inspiration for the great song hit which made him famous, declared Churchill. He is a former medical student at the U. C. L. A., who abandoned his studies for a job as piano player in a Tijuana resort and rose to fame -as a radio pianist and musical director of Walt Disney’s animated cartoons.
Churchill is a constant reader of fables. Most fables had their origin with the Chinese, he asserts.
“Fables, with their musical scores, appeal to the public because of the originality of their treatment,” Churchill declared. “I did not discover this in the beginning. I began writing musical scores for these animated cartoons to get away from the cost of using stock music. Being a reader of fables, they furnish most of the ideas which I put to music.”
“Three Little Pigs” has been a money maker, according to Churchill. Sheet music sales already have reached three quarters of a million, copies, 110,000 phonograph records have been made of the number and piano roll music is now on the market. Success of the number in Europe has been nearly as great as in America, he said.

Music was central in the Disney cartoons in the early ‘30s and when Walt Disney decided he had no choice put to go into features. Music held together the story. Just like the jingle-esque “Big Bad Wolf,” Churchill co-wrote singable, memorable tunes for “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” Although others contended Churchill a little bit of extra help. Cue the lawyers! First, from 1938.

Song in ‘Snow White’ Pirated, Music Publisher Charges
New York, Oct. 15.— AP— Music Publisher Thornton W. Allen filed in federal court today a copyright infringement action charging that the song “Some Day I’ll Find My Love” in the motion picture production of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” was a “deliberate piracy” of a college march titled “Old Eli,” written by Wadsworth Doster, Yale ‘09, to which Allen’s firm holds the rights.
Allen named Irving Berlin, Inc., publishers of Snow White’s song, credited to Larry Morey and Frank Churchill; Walt Disney Productions, Ltd., RKO Pictures, Inc., and Walt Disney Enterprises in his application for a temporary injunction to restrain use of the song pending a ruling on a permanent injunction and an accounting of unspecified damages.

The Oakland Tribune of April 12, 1939 reveals:

Exits and Entrances
Another plagiarism suit is on file. This time Modest Altschuler wants a quarter of a million from Walt Disney, Irving Berlin, Radio, and Frank Churchill because “Whistle While You Work” is like his “Russian Soldier’s Song.”

And while the newspapers seem to be silent on the outcome of those cases, it did report the ending of another, also in 1939.

‘Dwarf’ Suit, Old As Hills, Out of Court
HOLLYWOOD, Sept. 20—(UP)—The $50,000 suit of Reynard Fraunfelder, a Swiss who said he put the yodels into the motion picture “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,” was thrown out of court today. .
Superior Judge Frank Swain upheld the defense contention that yodelling is “as old as the Swiss hills” and that the Swiss acted only as an adviser for Walt Disney studios for which he was amply paid.
Fraunfelder had sued Disney, Radio Pictures, RCA manufacturing Co., and Frank Churchill, composer.



Churchill’s work wasn’t restricted to Disney. He came out with some songs for 11-year-old Bobby Breen and his co-stars in the musical-romance “Breaking the Ice” (1938). And there was a brief period at Walter Lantz’ studio; Boxoffice of December 11, 1937 reports he was hired as a composer at the same time Frank Marsales was hired as an arranger and Nat Shilkret as a conductor and musical advisor. But he carried on composing for Walt’s features until his sudden end in 1942.

COMPOSER OF SONG HIT FATALLY SHOT
Death of Frank Churchill, Who Wrote “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” Termed Suicide.
Newhall, Calif., May 14.—(AP)—Frank Churchill, composer of the song hit, "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?"—the tune with which America laughed itself out of the depression—was shot and fatally wounded today on his ranch near Newhall. Deputy Sheriff John Morrell said the death was a suicide.
The composer, 40 years old, long had been employed at the Walt Disney studios in Hollywood. He returned here only yesterday for a rest.
Morrell said he left a note to his wife, reading:
“Dear Carolyn: My nerves have completely left me. Please forgive me for this awful act. It seems the only way I can cure myself.”
The composer’s "Big Bad Wolf" was from Disney’s “The Three Little Pigs.” His most recent tunes are in the Disney films, “Dumbo” and “Bambi,” the latter not yet released.
Churchill wrote the songs for “Snow White,” including the memorable “Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho” and “Whistle While You Work.”
Studio associates said his last composition probably was his greatest. It is called “Love is a Song That Never Ends,” and was written for Bambi. He was ranked among the highest paid members of the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers.
Morrell said Mrs. Churchill, aroused by a shot, asked Don Dernford, a hired man, to investigate.
He found Churchill, a bullet wound through his heart and a rifle lying beside him. Beneath his body was a rosary.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Churchill quoted him. “Put me to bed.”
He was dead when Dr. E. C. Innis reached the ranch from here.
Studio associates said his health had long been poor, and he spent much time on his ranch.

The United Press of June 3, 1942 had this post-script with further indication Churchill’s home life was troubled:

The will of the late Frank E. Churchill, composer for the Walt Disney studios, was filed for probate Tuesday, disclosing he left his daughter, Corrine, 20, only $1 because she “refused to accept any educational advantages or moral guidance” from her father.

Is there more to the story? Could be. This news site story from Santa Clarita, California leaves questions hanging for the reader to decide on their own.

Churchill isn’t as well known as his predecessor at Disney, Carl Stalling, because of the enormous popularity-—and endless rerunning on television—of the Warner Bros. cartoons that Stalling went on to score. But Churchill ultimately had more influence. He was responsible for Disney’s first hit song. Considering all the fortune-making musical features the Disney people have had over the years, they owe a great deal to Frank Edwin Churchill.

Stop Staring!

The early Fleischer cartoons are great fun. Lots of crazy gags as just about anything comes to live. Then there are the weird background characters that just stand or sit there because they’re on a drawing. Like these ones in ‘Betty Boop’s Ker-Choo’ (1933).



The background people weren’t credited at Fleisher’s for years. The animators on this one are Seymour Kneitel and Bernie Wolf.