Rock-a-Bye McGeehan

Any fan of Tex Avery has seen his cartoons over and over again. They can tell you about Preston Blair and Ed Benedict and Heck Allen. But they probably can’t tell who they’re hearing over top of Scott Bradley’s scores.

Well, other than Bill Thompson, as everyone knows he was the main voice of Droopy. And maybe Daws Butler, because of his television work. But Thompson and Butler never got an on-screen credit as MGM. Neither did anyone else on Tex’s cartoons while he was still at the studio.

Tex employed a handful of other radio actors at Metro. Wally Maher was Screwy Squirrel. Frank Graham, who worked at Columbia, Warner Bros. and Disney, is the mouse in ‘King Size Canary.’ John Brown, who was part of Fred Allen’s stock cast and played a couple of characters on ‘The Life of Riley,’ provides voices in ‘Symphony in Slang.’ But there are three who are lesser known—Jack Mather, Harry Lang and Pat McGeehan, all of whom used growly voices for Tex that I still have trouble telling apart.



That’s McGeehan playing the sleepy bear in Avery’s ‘Rock-a-bye Bear’ (1952). He’s also the pound worker in the same cartoon, and voice actor historian Keith Scott has picked him out in another sleep-based cartoon, as the hunter in ‘Doggone Tired’, and it sounds like him reading the will at the opening of ‘Wags to Riches’ (both 1949).

McGeehan has a place in television cartoon history as well. He was one of four adept radio people supplying voices in what was arguably the first cartoon series made for television—‘NBC Comics.’ The show has an interesting genesis in 1947 I’ll have to post about. The network bought it in August 1950 and put it on the air in the 5-5:15 p.m. slot weekdays after Kate Smith starting September 18th. It consisted of four separate three-minute cartoons—‘Kid Champion, ‘Space Barton,’ ‘Danny March’ and ‘Johnny and Mr. Do Good.’ While they were cartoons, there was barely any animation. ‘Billboard’ of August 26, 1950 described it as a new “stop and go technique.” The cartoons apparently used character narration and McGeehan was one of the actors who was heard. If you want to learn a bit more about ‘NBC Comics’, check out Ron Kurer’s great site.

McGeehan was a “featured player” at the Pasadena Community Playhouse, according to Carroll Nye’s column in the Los Angeles Times of May 19, 1936, when he appeared in a drama on KFWB. The New York Times revealed on September 14, 1940 he had been hired to provide voices for George Pal’s ‘Madcap Models’ series of shorts for Paramount. If he’s remembered at all these days, it’s for his work as part of Red Skelton’s radio supporting cast starting in 1946. He and Red were apparently great cronies—McGeehan obviously wasn’t one of his writers—and a syndicated column of December 15, 1960 tells this story about the two and McGeehan’s voice talents.

That’s Show Business
By DICK WILLIAMS
(with caricature by Bill Mac Arthur)
Announcer Patrick McGeehan worked for many years in close association with Red Skelton. Being personal friends as well, Red was able to utilize McGeehan’s unique talent for imitating voices in unorthodox fashion.
Early one evening, Red and Pat learned an important new film they wished to see would be previewed in Pasadena. There wasn’t time to make the showing; from Red's Beverly Hills home.
“Call up, pretend you’re Lionel Barrymore and ask them to hold up the start,” asked Red. “I don’t want to ask it myself. It would sound like I thought I was a big shot or something.”
McGeehan complied, and delighted manager was happy to agree and said would save a special seat for Mr. Barrymore.
When they arrived at the theater, McGeehan found a phone booth called the manager again, and in Lionel’s voice explained he wouldn’t be able to make it after all.
As McGeehan left the phone, he saw Red doubled over with laughter in the lobby. Out front, Lionel Barrymore was being helped by a chauffeur, from the back seat of a black limousine!

The credited animators on ‘Rock-a-Bye Bear’ were Mike Lah, Walt Clinton and Grant Simmons. It was Tex Avery’s last cartoon for MGM before taking some time off (Dick Lundy acquired Bob Bentley as a fourth animator when he took over the unit). And, as best as I can tell, it was Patrick McGeehan’s last cartoon appearance. When Avery returned to the studio, he stuck with Butler, Thompson and even himself doing some voice roles. McGeehan went on to work on Art Linkletter’s ‘People Are Funny.’ He died of a cerebral haemorrhage in hospital in Burbank on January 3, 1988.

Roger Williams, 1924-2011

There was a benign place of refuge for music-lovers of the late 1950s from the clash and wail of rock and roll—popular music.

Perry Como, Mitch Miller, Patti Page. Not exactly something which fit the mould of car-radio rock like Jerry Lee Lewis or Buddy Holly. And for those who wanted something even more tranquil, there was always the instrumental sound of Mantovani, the Jackie Gleason Orchestra—and Roger Williams.

Williams died today of pancreatic cancer at age 87. See his New York Times obit.

There was a time you couldn’t get away from him. He churned out 10 albums in 15 months as Kapp Records’ meal-ticket by October 1957 and had sold a million. That doesn’t include sales of 45s. And he never stopped. Over the years, he seems to have covered music in every genre with his relaxed and inoffensive sound. He appeared on ‘Ed Sullivan’ and other TV shows with straight-forward performances minus glittery costumes or a tendency to mix Chopin with ’76 Trombones.’ No Liberace he.

Williams was a perfect match for radio stations that turned to the easy listening format in the 1960s, with not-quite-high-brow, sentimental tunes for candlelight and wine that were far more elevated than elevator music. But he also studied with Teddy Wilson and had a bachelor’s in engineering.

My instrumental musical tastes run closer to Roger Roger than Roger Williams, but there’s no disputing he was a hardy annual with a strong and steady fan base.

As I’m apt to do, I’ve dug around for an old newspaper column from early in Williams’ fame. Bob Thomas has spent decades as an Associated Press columnist, writing first about movies and radio, and then TV. Thomas seems to have interviewed everyone and I wish a collection of his interviews was available. Here’s his little nugget that took up part of his column of November 18, 1957, a week after an appearance on the Sullivan show.

NEW YORK (AP)— Hollywood in Manhattan—
Roger Williams, sensation of the record and concert field, can look back to the time when he literally lived on peanuts in Los Angeles.
“It was during the war,” says the handsome, 31-year-old pianist. “I left Iowa for California, partly because of asthma and partly to study under a concert teacher. I got a job playing piano at night at a Lacienega restaurant for $50 a week. But I had to buy a car to get there, pay for my lessons and rent for a room in Inglewood.
“I could count on one square meal every week from a friend who had me to dinner on Sundays. In between, things were pretty lean. Some days I’d get by on peanuts alone. Lots of nutrition in peanuts.”
Career Successful
Meals are no longer a concern for Roger. His record of “Autumn Leaves” sold 2,600,000, and three of his albums were recently on the best-seller list. His concerts, which he plays longhair as well as pop numbers, are sell-outs. He’s a steady guest star on the TV variety shows.
He wears success well. Born in Omaha, he grew up in Des Moines, where his father was minister of the largest United Lutheran Church in the United States. Roger’s life has been a peculiar balance — between playing the organ in his father’s church and starring on the boxing team, taking a degree in engineering and devoting his life to music.
Up Hard Way
Married and the father of two girls, Roger practices 8 to 10 hours a day in a room-within-a-room in the basement of his New York home. He came up the hard way, via bars, night clubs and Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts.
How did his father feel about his playing in drinking joints? Roger asked him once. His father's reply:
“You take care of them on Saturday night, and I’ll take care of them on Sunday.”

If you could look out my living room window, you would see something that’s a fitting reminder of Roger Williams’ talent. On the ground below are autumn leaves.

Dance of the Big Snooze

Most of Bob Clampett’s final cartoons at Warner Bros. are filled with remarkable drawings. His very last, ‘The Big Snooze’ (1946), features an amazing little cycle as Bob provides a ridiculous animated response to the old “walk this way” gag.

At one point, Elmer’s upside-down with his curls behaving like feet. He hops on all fours and does a Russian kick dance, as Carl Stalling mixes ‘Chicken Reel’ with that Russian song everyone knows but no one can name. The cycle breaks here for Elmer and Bugs to shout “Hey!” at the camera.



My understanding is this scene was animated by Manny Gould. Manny blossomed beautifully in the Clampett unit after two decades of toil in animation, dating back to the days of silent films in New York City. I don’t think you’ll find too many signs of this kind of work in the Krazy Kat cartoons he did for Charlie Mintz in the ‘30s.

Izzy Ellis, Rod Scribner and Bill Melendez (Scribner’s former assistant) are the other credited animators. Clampett’s name in the title cards is noticeable by its absence; he’d left the studio by this time it was released for reasons that are still debated today.

Yosemite Smash

If Friz Freleng had a best-timed moment in a cartoon, this one from ‘Bugs Bunny Rides Again’ may be it.



Yosemite Sam rides his small horse into a tunnel and the scene fades to black. There’s nothing but black for 12 frames, then this drawing flashing onto the screen, and a fade back to black in three frames. Just perfect.

Friz had a string of winning Bugs cartoons through the mid to the end of the ‘40s and this is one of the best. So many great things are going on, it’s hard to pick one over another. Bugs and Sam’s buck-and-wing, the smiling horse chase, Sam a-thinkin’ (“And my head hurts”), the list goes on and on.

Credited animators are Ken Champin, Gerry Chiniquy (who handled the energetic dance scene), Virgil Ross (Bugs leaning against a doorway, rolling a cigarette) and Manny Perez, with J.C. (Bill) Melendez’ name initialled in one of the backgrounds by Paul Julian.

50 Years of Rob and Laura

How’s this for a TV review? Fred Danzig of UPI gave it to a show in his column of October 3, 1961.

The acting ... was petrified. The dialogue was wooden. The laugh-and-applause track was intrusive. And the background fiddle music* was impossible.

And what was the show? One I had never heard of until researching this post. It was ‘Window on the World’ and starred Robert Young, just coming off a long career as the Father who Knows Best. Danzig’s description certainly isn’t one you could give to a different show which debuted that night, one still loved by comedy fans everywhere.

Going up against the second-half of ‘Laramie’ on NBC, and tired, old ‘Bachelor Father’ on ABC, was a promising, brand-new sitcom on CBS—‘Double Trouble.’ Well, that’s what its name was in a news blurb the previous May. By the time it aired, it was called ‘The Dick Van Dyke Show.’

It succeeded because it simply wasn’t anything like Danzig’s description of Bob Young’s forgotten effort. The acting was superb, the dialogue was both funny and fast, the brassy theme song stuck in your head (and everyone watched and waited for the hassock gag in the opening credits starting in season two). And you knew everyone on the show. Rob Petrie was the nice guy next door, Laura was crush material, and Buddy and Sally were the snappy, silly, funny friends. They all meshed together oh-so-well. And, more importantly, ‘Van Dyke’ pulled away from shows like Young’s ‘Father Knows Best’ which weren’t much more than radio sitcoms, filled with standard-issue characters with standard-issue dialogue in standard-issue situations.

I wanted to mark this week’s 50th anniversary of the debut of the Van Dyke show by digging up an old interview. So here’s a fine profile of Van Dyke in a syndicated column that ran about a month before his show debuted.

Dick Van Dyke Is Versatile
By STEVEN H SCHEUER
NEW YORK — A new contender for “young Bob Hope” parts is out in Hollywood sporting a tan, driving a sports car and making a TV series. He’s Dick Van Dyke, the-rubber-legged star of the Broadway musical “Bye Bye Birdie,” who turned down a smaller role in a Cary Grant picture to make a series instead.
This is a puzzle. Why do a TV series and kill yourself instead of concentrating on a movie career? Manager Byron Paul, who is a TV director, too, says he wants to bring his boy along slowly. ‘The slower Dick can grow the longer he will be around.’
▲ ▲ ▲
Van Dyke will be around because he’s a nice happy looking, handsome fellow with a barrel full of talent. He says he never had a dancing lesson in his life until Gower Champion gave him a few directions for hobbling around in “Bye Bye Birdie” and he tore the theater down with his movements. TV fans will remember the unknown drunk who sobered up when he saw his wife on “Fabulous Fifties.” Dick had about ten minutes of action there and the exercise exhausted him. The action woke up a few fans. “Who was that fella anyway?” Then you had to wait ‘til the credits rolled at the end to learn he was Dick Van Dyke.
“That’s the story of my life,” says Van Dyke with a grin.
Later, he appeared on Alfred Hitchcock as a rich boy and in a stark Steel Hour drama about a homicidal murder. This fall, Dick, gagster Morey Amsterdam and Rose Marie play TV writers in the Dick Van Dyke Show, a series written and produced by writer and comic Carl Reiner. Reiner tried to star in his own pilot a year or so ago, but he couldn’t make a sale. With Van Dyke it was easy.
Van Dyke says he’s never been a straight man, but he may fall into this part with Morey Amsterdam throwing out one-liners, and brassy Rose Marie tossing curves. The Van Dyke moments will come when he has a dream sequence or some opportunity to get in a bit of pantomime, and these are the moments the fans will be waiting for. Because when Dick starts to be someone else like his imitation of Stan Laurel, he’s irresistible.
▲ ▲ ▲
“If you don’t mind,” says Dick, pulling up his mouth, blinking his eyes, giving the busy little waddle. You begin to look around for Babe Hardy to answer Laurel.
Laurel is Van Dyke’s hero. “I’ve stolen everything I could from Mr. Laurel,”' says Dick. And Mrs. Van Dyke says she’s never seen Dick more nervous than the first time he went to meet Stan Laurel.
Other Van Dyke pantomime heroes are Marcel Marceau and Jacques Tati, and fans will see some of their characteristics in the Van Dyke spots this season. Dick has spent hours seeing Tati’s ‘Hulot’s Holiday’ and whenever Marceau is in town Van Dyke is in the audience. Dick loves pantomime and 'hopes the series will give him an opportunity to use it.
Van Dyke learned his trade in night clubs working the California-Vegas area moving over to Florida and then up to the East Coast. He doesn't consider himself a comic, but an entertainer, because he can do bits of many things. “I can do a little sleight of hand, but I can’t tell jokes,” he said. “People are always asking me to come to a big banquet and tell jokes. I can’t. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
Dick’s best known routines are a drunk, headless man, a tight rope walker or just an ad-lib dancer rejecting or accepting drum beats. These pieces will be occasionally fitted into the weekly plot and that’s tough to do. Ray Bolger tried it years ago and darn near expired doing it. Looking back, it was a good try.
In addition, Dick can get by with simple dialogue because he has that clean, friendly All American look. He also wears clothes well, but his tan isn’t as dark as Cary Grant’s. In any event the ladies are going to love him and may not care if he never wiggles an ankle. He’s not the Robert Mitchum type, but this corner bets he’ll get by anyhow.

It’s telling that Scheuer’s column makes no mention of Mary Tyler Moore, who was little more than a Richard Diamond trivia question at that time (only her legs were seen on that show). Certainly Frank Sinatra knew better. Ol’ Blue Eyes signed her in September 1961 as the first contract player for his Essex Productions to play the feminine romantic lead in ‘X-15.’

Oh, you may be asking yourself: “If Danzig hated that Robert Young show, what did he think about Dick Van Dyke?” An excellent question. Danzig reviewed it the following day:

All right. Dick Van Dyke is a clever entertainer who deserves a TV show. Agreed. But why does the show have to be a limp situation comedy?
“The Dick Van Dyke Show once seen as a sad pilot for a possible “Carl Reiner Show,” seemed like a left-over “Danny Thomas Show” with its debut Tuesday night on CBS-TV.
Our hero is cast as a college-educated comedy writer—the new breed — as a husband-and-father and, perhaps too incidentally, as a capable entertainer in his own right. The first episode let Van Dyke stab at each segment of that triolocular personality and his best moment came when he was allowed to entertain. At a party Van Dyke was asked to do a bit. He performed a fall-down, stand-up drunk and it was very funny. And that was the show. All else was dreary TV comedy fare. Supporting Van Dyke are Morey Amsterdam, Rose Marie—remember little Baby Rose?— and, as the wife, Mary Tyler Moore. Larry Matthews apparently is going to have too much to do in the role of a small boy.

Today, Danzig’s review seems a little ludicrous, but there were those within CBS who must have agreed. The network was just about set to replace the Van Dyke show the following season with a sitcom starring Paul Lynde. But producer Sheldon Leonard, known for playing strong-willed, strong-arming characters in the movies, used his real-life strong will to, perhaps not strong-arm, but convince the network to keep the show on the air. A happy decision for all (except maybe Paul Lynde). It saved ‘The Dick Van Dyke Show’ from really having something in common with ‘Window on the World’—obscurity.

* Footnote: Music credits on ‘Window on the World’ were given to Emil Cadkin and Irving Friedman. Though I haven’t heard the cues, the names virtually scream that the show used one of the Capitol production libraries.

Cheese Chasers

Was Chuck Jones not happy with the gags Mike Maltese gave him for this cartoon? He seems more interested in experimenting with eyes than anything else.

Claude Cat has eye-lids within eyes in one take, and the unnamed bulldog has eyes poking out from eyeballs. Jones did the same thing in other cartoons.




Jones’ usual 1951 crew is credited—Ken Harris, Ben Washam, Lloyd Vaughn and Phil Monroe. I like Hubie and Bertie but I’d probably take ‘Roughly Squeaking’ (1946) over this one. There’s a wonderful galumphing run by the all-chest dog (who also engages in some Oliver Hardy-like finger wiggling at one point) and Maltese nicely sets up one of my favourite puns in a Warners cartoons toward the end.

The Story of “Hi, Guy!”

Good entertainment can be burned in your mind forever. Even television commercials. Of course, that’s what the sponsor wants.

Commercials can be tremendously clever and so can the actors who work on them. And one of those actors is Chuck McCann.

Chuck’s had an incredible career. He made his name in a part of television that’s obsolete—the live, low-budget children’s show, where you could see some of the most creative and funny programming ever thought up at the spur of the moment. But he became recognised across a continent when he was cast in ad campaign in 1969 for Right Guard as a slightly unhinged next-door neighbour on the other side of a shared medicine cabinet.

You couldn’t turn on a TV at one time without hearing Chuck shout “Hi, guy!” at a somewhat uncomfortable Bill Fiore. The catchphrase became one of many spawned by television commercials.

Chuck is on Facebook and, for reasons quite unknown to me, sent me a friend request. My spotty television work ended a long time ago and my commercial work (on radio) even longer so I’m positive Chuck doesn’t know about any of it. But an unexpected benefit has resulted from being Chuck’s friend. I’ve learned the story behind his most famous TV gig.

I’m going to leave Chuck’s spelling, punctuation and so on, intact. He bashed it out so there are a few typos.

The name of the actor I did worked with in the first and last few commercials was Bill Fiorie..He reminded me of an actor and comedian I had just worked with in Hollywood named, Hamilton Camp and we were always saying in a nasal twang to each other Hiiiiiiii Guyyyyy!!!!!!! it drove everybody on the set crazy, so when I saw Bill who was Hamilton's size it reminded me of Hamilton, and I add libed it, in the spot..When Bill first opens the cabnit door, I think the original copy read hello there I'm your next door neighbor.....But I felt that it needed something bigger to help with the shock of Bill seeing someone on the other side of his medicine cabnit, so looking at Bill and thinking of the resemblance to Hamilton, I blurt out HIIIII>>>GUYYYYYY!!!w The first spot we did was a test for the commercial and there wasn't a lot of laughs in it.. so Joe Bologna The great actor, director, with his great comedic mind, saw the gold in what we were doing The one shot, and I'm good for the whole day was just supposed to be said straight.. But there was a Greek airline commercial on the air, at the time.and I remembered one of the passengers doing a Greek dance while getting on board with his arms over his head, snapping his fingers..I don't know what came over me at the time, so I exited the shot imitating the dance,arms raised snapping my fingers saying, "One shot and I'm good for the whole day" The crew broke up and Bill turned around and faced the camera and added a button.calling out to an imaginary wife... addlibed ..Margret.. Joe sid hey It's a test do it again.. So on every other try bill addlibed a different name to button My exit..after many takes he picked Mona and commercial history was made...If I remember corectly the commercial was so successful Gillette's stock rose by many Points...We did them for many many years

According to Jim Hall’s book ‘Mighty Minutes,’ ad agency BBDO came up with a series of five spots, ending the campaign in 1972, then bringing it back in 1978 (why argue with success?). Here’s the first commercial that began airing 42 years ago. It doesn’t seem that long ago, does it?



As this is a post about commercials, it’s only fitting I give a very unsolicited commercial for Chuck’s web site (click on the blue link). Chuck’s got some great old video up, but he’s also involved with new projects, too. A shame not one of them includes the words “Hi, guy!” You almost come to expect it.

Bugs Bunny, Comic Strip Star

Walt Disney signed his name to comic strips he didn’t draw. So Leon Schlesinger must have thought he could/should do the same thing. And he did when the Newspaper Enterprise Association syndicated the Bugs Bunny Sunday comic strip.

Charles Brubaker quotes ‘100 Years of Newspaper Comics’ as saying that the strip ran from 1942 to 1993. This is the earliest Sunday colour comic I can find, from September 19, 1943. Click on it to enlarge.

J.D. Weil reveals by this point, Roger Armstrong supplied the artwork while Carl Buettner wrote the strip.



Other than Leon’s “signature,” maybe the most notable thing is the older design of Bugs, quite natural considering when it was drawn.

The comics, to me, have a different feel than the shorts, and not just because of the media. The situations weren’t the same. Bugs always seemed to be running some kind of shop, Sylvester kept calling people “Guv’ner” and characters like Cicero and Petunia Pig made appearances long after they disappeared from animation.

Still, some of the strips are amusing and worth taking a look at, even if only as an animation history sidebar.

Name That Walt

No, Woody Woodpecker didn’t sneak his way into a Disney cartoon. But it sure looks like it. This is from the opening of ‘Pixie Picnic’ (1948), the first cartoon put into production by Walter Lantz under his contract to United Artists. The director is Dick Lundy (ex-Disney) and the credited animators are Freddie Moore (ex-Disney) and LaVerne Harding (never at Disney).



Lantz turned out his most attractive cartoons before he closed up temporarily at the end of the ‘40s. Among his animation staff were Ed Love, Pat Matthews and Ken O’Brien.

Tex Avery

Here’s Tex being interviewed for the feature film ‘Bugs Bunny Superstar’ (1975). At that time, he was 67 years old and working for Cascade, a small studio run by Oscar-nominee Roy Seawright that closed up in the late ‘70s.

Tex is my favourite director, though—as odd as this sounds—my favourite cartoons were made at Warners after he left. At Warners, you watch the characters, which were handled so well by Chuck Jones and Friz Freleng. But in Tex’s cartoons, you’re really watching Tex and what he’ll do with his gags. He’s corny, outrageous and silly—almost all at once. He’ll comment on being corny, outrageous and silly. And just when you think he’s exhausted his gag supply, he comes up with something that’s even more corny, outrageous or silly, usually out of nowhere or when you least expect it, one after another.

I’d love to know what was going through Leon Schlesinger’s mind when he hired Tex in 1935 to direct. Schlesinger had three directors—Freleng, Jack King and Bugs Hardaway. Not only did he demote Hardaway, he created a brand-new unit, soon to be put in a separate building, headed by an untested newcomer. It really was a gamble, as Tex told historian Joe Adamson. Why Leon gambled is anyone’s guess, though wagering (horses, cards) was in his nature by all accounts.

Tex’s unit, judging by the credits, originally consisted of Jones, Bob Clampett, Virgil Ross and Sid Sutherland as animators, along with Bobe Cannon (they are all caricatured near the end of ‘Page Miss Glory’), Cecil Surry, Joe D'Igalo and Elmer Wait. Ross, Sutherland, Surry and D’Igalo had been with Avery at the Walter Lantz studio. Wait died on July 20, 1937. He was 23.

Anyone familiar with Tex’s life knows he went through a variety of struggles. His son Tim died of an overdose in 1972, his marriage broke up, he battled the bottle, then he finally got stuck trying to work around the “children-protecting” censorship and restrictions of late ‘70s television animation at Hanna-Barbera. He died on August 26, 1980. Joe Adamson says he heard it was from cancer of the liver.

In picking the first non-Tralfaz screen grab to put on the site, there isn’t a much better choice than the man who revolutionised humour in animated cartoons—Frederick Bean (Tex) Avery. Bravo, Doc.