Disney Hates TV

One generation grew up with “The Mickey Mouse Club” and the “Wonderful World of Color.” Another did the same with “The Disney Afternoon.” And, of course, today we have The Disney Channel, Disney Junior and Disney XD (né Toon Disney). So it’s odd that Uncle Walt himself thought the idea of getting into television would be a terrible and costly one.

Of course, some context helps to explain Disney’s feelings. He expressed them in 1952, a time when panicky movie studios were selling off their back catalogues of films to the highest bidder, who’d shop them around to television; after all, studios made movies, they weren’t in the TV syndication business. That’s what Disney had in mind when he made his comments about TV to the United Press’ Hollywood correspondent. When Disney went into television, he did it differently, keeping his old films and reworking them into something completely different. Eventually, Walt would eventually become a recognisable TV star in his own right, introducing snippets of this and that, or introducing Ludwig Von Drake introducing snippets of this and that, cobbled together in an almost-seamless hour-long show.

But let’s go back 60 years to see what Disney had to say about the Box That Berle Came In.

Walt Disney Spurning $8 Million in TV Offers
By VIRGINIA MacPHERSON
HOLLYWOOD, Dec. 18 (U.P.) — Walt Disney, who’s turned down a reported $8 million in TV often, said today he did it because he doesn’t want to go into competition with himself.
“I still have confidence in the movie business,” the cartoon genius explained quietly. “I happen to think it’ll still be around for a few more years.”
And as long as it is, Disney’s a cinch to keep raking in the dough. Any time he feels he could use another old million or two, he just re-releases one of his full-length cartoons.
“The television people want to buy my films,” he shrugged. “But I’m not selling. Why should I? They’re still good for movie theaters. And, because they’re timeless, they always will be.”
Which is why he can’t see any sense in selling “Alice in Wonderland” or “Cinderella” or “Bambi” to the co-axial cable gents. He can make more dough putting ‘em in the vault for a year or two and then slamming ‘em out again.
But Disney makes one concession every Christmas. He puts on an hour-long TV show for the kids. This year his fantasy on CBS-TV will give ‘em a peek into “Peter Pan” and “Snow White,” which’ll be making the rounds again by Easter.
“But I insisted on one thing,” he added. “And the sponsors agreed with me. No commercials. All we do is tell you the name of the sponsor . . . and that’s that.
“My big beef with television is the stupid commercials. They’re in bad taste. And there are too many of ‘em. Why, I’ve watched shows that have been interrupted six times in 30 minutes to plug a product.
“This is bad showmanship. It’s hurting television.”
It could even be another reason why he turned down that $8 million. Disney makes cartoons because he loves ‘em. So do the 600 people who work for him.
Disney makes sure of this with a concentrated “love-thy-job” campaign. The commissary serves rare roast beef at half what it costs him. There’s even beer on ice. . . . The only studio in town that lets the bars down this far.
“Why not?” the boss shrugs. “This way they’re a lot more apt to have one beer and get back to work on time. If I didn’t sell it here they could go off the lot and maybe have a coupla martinis and never get back.”
He has a good way of keeping ‘em on their toes on the job, too. He shows ‘em what the competition’s turning out.
“Only the best ones,” he added. “I never show a bad cartoon from another studio. That tends to make everybody here get fat and lazy and smug.
“But when they see a good one somebody else has made they charge out and work twice as hard.”

Walt is still passing himself off at the benevolent employer, kindly supplying food and drink to his hard-working (and anonymous) crew. Reporter MacPherson apparently didn’t contact Art Babbitt for reaction.

Disney also apparently didn’t really mind commercials too much—so long as they were made by his studio for a profit or, better still, were infomercials plugging his latest ventures.

Fortunately, Disney had the foresight to find a way to put his old material on television in a way that he wasn’t re-releasing it to theatres. He not only provided memories for today’s geezers—even I tuned in occasionally on afternoons to watch some great opening animation ending with Donald Duck banging a gong—he introduced people on Sunday evening to some of the fun sound shorts of the late ‘20s and early ‘30s. And unlike Warner Bros., whose cartoons were making money for AAP and Sunset and everyone but Warner Bros., Disney kept reaping the financial benefits that allowed him to move into the future. It all happened because Walt Disney finally gave television a try.

(Above right: Big Bad Wolf, voiced by Billy Bletcher, getting pounded in “The Three Little Wolves”).

If You're Ever Down in Texas

One of my favourite pieces of animation in a Tom and Jerry cartoon is in “Texas Tom” (1950) when the cat goes all western and serenades a girl kitty.

Tom strolls out, jingle-jangle-jingling in his cowboy garb. He ever-so-casually flicks up his hat to the lady (where did he suddenly develop such skill?)



Then he rolls his own cigarette and blows smoke into the air. The smoke forms an introduction.



Next, he pulls a guitar out of nowhere and inherits Ken Darby’s voice as he sings “If You’re Ever Down in Texas (Look Me Up).” He even steals a stretchy kiss.



And, as a silly bonus, Joe Barbera’s story unexpectedly tosses in a chorus of cows for a couple of bars. First, the moms, then a pan over to the calves.



Jerry, of course, moves in to gum up things.

The usual MGM Hanna-Barbera crew worked on this one—Ken Muse, Ray Patterson, Ed Barge and Irv Spence.

Outlining Woody

“The Screwdriver” is as about appropriate as you can get for the title of a cartoon about the early version of Woody Woodpecker being a menace on the road. This is the wonderful wide-legged, Mel Blanc-voiced version of Woody who drove someone insane at the end of a cartoon (writer Bugs Hardaway brought the plot device over with him from Warner Bros.).

Woody occasionally popped from pose to pose in 1941, but his body parts were never stretched in between poses. Instead, the animators (or their assistants) used lines or outlines to show Woody’s movement. Here are a few examples at the outset of “The Screwdriver.”



Alex Lovy and Ralph Somerville are the credited animators. Ralph Jay Somerville was born in Oskaloosa, Iowa on December 6, 1905 (at ten pounds) to Rev. Jay Wilbur and Jessie Meredith (Burdick) Somerville. His father and maternal grandfather were both ministers in the Methodist Episcopal Church, his mother died about two months shy of her 101st birthday. The family moved to Bloomington, Ill. in 1907; Wichita, Kansas in 1910 and were in Fulton, New York by 1920. Somerville graduated from high school in Warrensburg, N.Y. in 1923, went to work at the Fleischer Studio in New York City by 1930 and was in Los Angeles by 1935. Around the time this cartoon was made, he was pulling down $3120 a year at Lantz. Somerville was also married to the former Xenia Beckwith as of May 27, 1938. The two divorced on June 7, 1943 (Somerville was a sergeant with the U.S. Army Air Forces in the China-Burma-India theatre) during the war) and Xenia went on to marry Lantz animator Ed de Mattia (who also saw military service) on April 5, 1945. That marriage ended in divorce. All three worked at the Hanna-Barbera studio in the early ‘60s. Somerville later spent time at Filmation and was one of many old-timers who animated the stiff Spider-Man series for Grantray-Lawrence. He retired to Weed, California in 1974 and died on February 13, 2000.

The Quintessence of Nothing

Was there a radio star more quoted than Fred Allen?

It’s hard to pin down Allen as a cynic, pessimist or a realist. Perhaps he was a bit of all three, judging by what he had to say about the entertainment industry of his day and California, a particular topic of dislike. Many of his observations have been preserved and requoted, but some are buried in old newspaper columns that we have endeavoured to pull from dusty archives and bring to you.

Buried amongst Fred’s disappointments and annoyances are some cute one-liners that he would have used on his radio show—if he had a radio show. At the time of this column, December 19, 1951, he barely had a TV show. He, Jerry Lester and Bob Hope were appearing on a rotational basis as the hosts of “Sound Off Time,” a live Sunday night variety show that petered out in early 1952. At least one TV failure awaited him before he found a modest level of comfort (and he decidely looks uncomfortable on certain broadcasts) as a panelist on “What’s My Line.”

Fred Allen Raps Favorite Targets
BY BOB THOMAS 
HOLLYWOOD, Dec. 19.— (AP)—Sour-faced comedian Fred Allen, here for a movie stint, paused long enough to level a blast at his favorite target—vice presidents. Allen has long been a critic of the executive mind, particularly in the air networks and advertising agencies. He blames such bigwigs for television’s failings, including his own.
“My shows have been pretty bad,” he admitted openly, “except the last one. The reason is that until now I had been doing what everybody else said I was supposed to do. But on the last one, I disregarded their advice and did the kind of show I wanted. The sponsor was dropping the series anyway, so what, did I have to lose?
Many Screwy Notions.
“These executives have a lot of screwy, notions about TV. They say everything has to have movement. Even if you’re standing still and doing a monologue, there has to be two guys running around behind you.
“After all, entertainment is entertainment, whether you’re running a race or standing still. But you can't convince executives of that. I’ve always thought that the meeting of executive minds produced the quintessence of nothing.”
The Boston comic has had many a run-in with executives. It started back with his first air show. The wife of one of the sponsors liked organ music.
“We were trying to put on a snappy show,” recalled Allen, “but we had to stop in the middle of it to switch to the New York Paramount for two minutes of organ music.”
Influence Rapped.
He believes that the advertiser’s influence in TV produced a bad effect, “just as it did in radio.”
“The TV performer has the same importance as the label on a can,” he argued. “The show itself is not important; it’s whether the show can sell the product. “I think it’s bad in any medium when the entertainment quality is not the important thing. A discriminating audience has certainly helped the movie business. Pictures had to get better, because people found out they could eat popcorn right out in the open; they didn’t have to go in darkened theaters to do it.”
Allen is here to play a TV performer in a sequence of “We’re Not Married.” I asked him if he planned any more pictures.
“No,” he replied. “I was never any good in pictures, and I never really had pictures written for me. I did my first one because they couldn’t get Ned Sparks. I did another because they liked the first one. Then, I did one with Jack Benny because we were supposed to be fighting on the radio.
“Besides, I’m tied down to an exclusive deal with NBC. They won’t let me work for any other network. Even when I’m not working, I’m not working for NBC.”
I remarked that he was looking amazingly well for Allen. Even the bags under his eyes were small valises.
“I’ve been on a diet for two years because of my high blood pressure,” he explained. “I can’t eat anything with salt. In fact, I can’t even return to New York by way of Salt Lake City when I go back; that's how strict it is.
“I had to give up drinking and smoking, too. At my age (57), I’m not allowed any pleasures. Why do I work? Just for the convenience of the treasury department.”

Happy Nude Year from Elmer Fudd

Bugs Bunny pulls the phoney New Year’s bit on Elmer Fudd in “The Wabbit Who Came to Supper” (1942) in a funny scene animated by Dick Bickenbach. Here he is about to get away when Elmer realises he’s been had.



The oddest thing in the cartoon isn’t the gag. It’s Elmer’s house. He has a women’s powder room, a pink bottle of “Sissy Stuff Petunia” in the bathroom and female nude portraits on the wall. Here are a couple.





And, for some reason, he has kind of a topographical map on another wall.



The cartoon was directed by Friz Freleng and anyone familiar with his unit knows that Paul Julian spent a number of years as his background painter. But Graham Webb’s Animated Film Encyclopedia says the backgrounds were done by Lenard Kester from layouts by Owen Fitzgerald. Julian left Jones’ unit in February 1941 but apparently didn’t join the Freleng unit right away. In 1942, he was creating murals for public buildings under a WPA programme.

Kester was born in New York City on May 10, 1917, grew up near the East River, studied at Cooper Union, then got a job at the Fleischer Studio in New York and went with it to Miami. In 1939, he took a vacation to Los Angeles and decided to stay. The Film Daily Year Book of 1941 lists him as an art director at Schlesinger’s (along with Johnny Johnsen and John McGrew). He then worked for Walt Disney, but I have no information about when he changed studios. So it could very well be Kester’s work on this cartoon.

Assorted Swell Stuff

Tex Avery never lets up. He starts a routine and then keeps going and going with different variations on a gag.

Here’s an example from “The Screwy Truant” (1945), where Screwy pulls stunt after stunt on the truant officer dog (with an interruption for a fairy tale). He just happens to find a convenient chest.



So, he uses it. But the gag is more than Screwy hitting the dog with one thing after another.



The dog keeps sprouting a different kind of hat every time he’s clobbered—including a top hat, a witch’s pointed hat, a crown and one of those Napoleon hats (with an ‘n’). Someone will have to explain to me the derivation of crazy-guy-thinks-he’s-Napoleon came from (it made it into a Winsor McCay comic so it goes back a way).

Heck Allen gets the story credit on this one, but some Avery gag favourites (including an anvil) make an appearance.

On Censorship, Dimes and Maxwells

Jack Benny did not slow down until the very end. He died on Boxing Day 1974 at the age of 80 and spent much of the year busy every day either with television, concerts, interviews or preparing for The Sunshine Boys, the movie he never starred in.

We’ve posted several of Jack’s print interviews from that year here on the blog. Here’s another one from Family Weekly, a weekend newspaper magazine supplement. It was published February 24th. Jack is asked about censorship, interesting in light of rigid inspection from the Hays/Breen office that films went through when he was making them. And he talks about why some of his long-running routines were retired and stopped appearing on his TV specials. His “Second Farewell Special” aired a month before this interview saw print..

Jack Benny 80 Talks About Jack Benny 39
By Peer J. Oppenheimer
The last time I saw Jack Benny was in his beautifully furnished, immaculate Beverly Hills mansion. This time I faced him across his cluttered desk in his Beverly Hills office. He turned 80 on Valentine’s Day, and we began talking about his proposed retirement.
FAMILY WEEKLY: Tell the truth now—could you ever think of yourself as not working?
BENNY: Let me put it this way. I could retire up to a certain point. And I’ll tell you what that point is. If I made a business of my concerts—and you know I give concerts for charity all the time—if I could do enough throughout the year, then I could probably retire. You see, I LOVE to play the violin. But I also love to get laughs. And I love to talk. So when I give a concert, I can do everything I do in Las Vegas. The difference is, the people who come to concerts are pretty sophisticated—the same people who maybe come to hear Isaac Stern, or Heifetz. In fact, Isaac Stern acts as an agent for me because he tells me where they need the money. I always say he gets ten percent of nothing.
FW: What do you think of today's permissiveness—particularly in movies?
BENNY: It's too bad. Producers are taking the easy way out. And the fact that the films are rated means nothing to me. I mean, either a picture should be permitted to be shown, or not, and not have an X rating or a G rating, or however they rate them.
FW: During the last election there was a Proposition 18 in California that, if passed, would have prohibited the showing of a lot of films. What did you think of that?
BENNY: I voted no because while don’t like obscene films, I don’t want censorship. Of any kind, anywhere. Otherwise someone can suddenly say, “Well, we don’t want this Jewish joke!” or “We don't want this Italian joke.” If a proposition like that went through, there's no telling how far censorship would go!
FW: As you grow older, are you growing more conservative?
BENNY: Not if conservative means stingy, careful with money. This I have never been. Neither has my wife. If I had, I should be the richest actor in show business. But politically—well, I am not a party man. I've never been a Democrat or a Republican. I don’t want to get hooked, I guess—I just want to vote for who is right.
FW: You say you aren't stingy. How did that joke start?
BENNY: By accident. In one of my old shows there were a couple of jokes about my being stingy. The audience laughed. A little later, when I did a weekly show, we used the same gag and it worked again. All of a sudden I became a stingy character. And then I realized how humorous it was, an element that is easy to laugh at. It’s easy to relate to.
FW: Has this ever gotten out of hand?
BENNY: Sometimes when I do guest shots, they plan on doing too much, and I’ll say, “Hey, wait a minute, fellas! I can’t be stingy throughout the entire show! There must be other things to do.” I’m so identified with it now that I don’t have to spell it out anymore.
For instance, on the Dean Martin show I walk into a restaurant and a reporter comes out and says there’s a big comet in the air and it’s going to hit the earth in about five minutes and the earth will be destroyed. I don’t say a word, but I go to the phone, and I say to the operator, “Who do I see? I just put a dime in the phone box . . . .” I don’t have to go any further. Just my going to the phone gets the laugh.
FW: Did anyone ever take your stinginess seriously?
BENNY: No. Everybody seems to know it’s a joke. But in order to compensate, it costs me a bloody fortune! Even with charities. I’m forced into giving a lot more than I can afford sometimes.
FW: How about your insistence that you are 39 years old? How did that get started?
BENNY: I kept the year 37 for a couple of years. When I was 38, I kept that up for about another three years. Then when I got to be 39, for some reason or other we thought 39 was a funny number. Also, a lot of little kids think that when you are 40, you are an old man. And who wants to be old?
FW: Did anyone ever object to your growing older than 39?
BENNY: Well, once we decided, for the publicity, to have a big 40th birthday. You can’t imagine the letters I received, including one from The Christian Science Monitor, begging me not to do it. The Monitor’s letter wasn’t humorously written, it was serious. They said that most people know my right age [Jack was born Benny Kubelsky on February 14, 1894]; but the people say, “Well, if Benny stays 39 and keeps working, I can keep on working, too!” So I stayed 39. But we don’t play that bit much anymore. Or the Maxwell car joke. That’s old stuff now—it's become corny.
FW: You don't look much older now than you did 20 years ago. How do you manage to stay in such good shape?
BENNY: Luckily I don't care much about eating. I love breakfast, but after that I can go on practically nothing. And I play golf—not as much or as well as I used to. But 1 think the most important thing is to do things mentally. I love to work.
FW: You once told me that one of the reasons you stayed young was because your grandchildren kept you young. Is that still the case?
BENNY: Maybe that was right at the time, but today I feel it’s my work that keeps me young. I like practically everything I do, and I don’t delve into myself. I don’t give a hoot how much people liked me on radio or in vaudeville. That’s gone. And when somebody asks me, “What did you like best, radio or television?” I say, “When I was in radio, I liked radio. But I couldn’t wait to get into television. If there is something after television, that’s what I will like!" You don’t live for yesterday or even today. You live for tomorrow.
FW: Did the fact that you and Mary worked together for such a long time help your marriage?
BENNY: Yes. But you know, it was quite by accident that we became a team. When I met her she was selling ladies’ hosiery at the May Company. In those days a lot of comedians would bring a girl out onstage to work for them. They were supposed to be dumb girls. All the comedians had dumb girls. Well, one day the one working for me became ill and Mary knew the part, and I said, "You know, you could do this beautifully!" And she did.
FW: After that, did you teach her a lot about the business?
BENNY: Mary’s knowledge about show business is absolutely amazing. She claims she learned certain things from me, which she probably did, but there are certain things that you instinctively have to do correctly to succeed. Like she would know enough not to try hard for jokes, that if it was written correctly on paper all she had to do was read it. That’s why Ronald Colman and his wife were great on my show. They were dramatic actors, but all they did was read the comedy lines exactly as they were written.

The Saturday Matinee

The movies ripped me off as a kid.

Saturday matinées where I grew up consisted of a Disney live-action feature and a really bad Woody Woodpecker cartoon. No wonder the only local theatre was torn down and turned into a parking lot (and remains one, more than 45 years later, as the photo to the right attests). But the 1940s were different. Kids could go to the movies and spend their afternoon enjoying a whole pile of cartoons and maybe some one or two-reel comedies.

Theatres advertised in the papers back then, nice big ads with drawings. Here are some random ads for different cartoon compilations.



This one’s from 1945. You’ve got to love the dog-looking Tom and the pig/bear in a civil defence helmet. And I don’t think there was a cartoon called “Confusions of Nutsy Squirrel,” though if Tex Avery made one called that, I’d watch it (I guess they mean the Norm McCabe-directed “Confusions of a Nutsy Spy”).



Four big cartoons and none of them are Woody Woodpecker titles. And kids got “Popeye’s Pappy” (1951), a cartoon where Popeye dresses up as a woman to lure his own father. Now that’s entertainment!



Someone better tell the Madison that “Jolly Frolics” is the name of a series, not a cartoon. At least the characters are more on-model in this one.



From August 1950. I’d go to a theatre today if they showed this line-up. “Three Bears in a Boat” starring Animal? Who know the Muppets were around back then (there was a Paramount short subject of that name in 1943; that could be it).



Not just cartoons, but Laurel and Hardy and the Stooges. Looks like the paper used studio publicity art.



“12 Big Units”? I thought they were showing cartoons, not big units.
I realised Beaky Buzzard had a Goofy-sounding voice, but apparently one theatre has mistaken the two characters in its ad for “Strife With Father.” And you all remember “Google Fishing Beer,” where Barney drinks then goes surfing the internet. Champion wasn’t a character, it was the name of the series of Paramount re-releases (just as MGM had the Gold Medal Reprints and Warners had the Blue Ribbons). The Edgar Kennedy two-reeler was the last one of the 1946-47 season. Plot: Edgar builds his own TV set to save money. Didn’t this get re-made into one of those hilarious Beary Family cartoons?



What better Christmas present than two hours of cartoons? This is from 1950, but “Jolly Little Elves” was released by Lantz in 1934 (it was his first colour cartoon). The Lum and Abner feature is from 1943.

Theatrical cartoon compilations like this proved one thing—kids will watch a show of old cartoons. It seems early television programmers made a note of that.

P.S.: In the comments, Mark Kausler noted the “Tom and Jerry Festival of Fun.” It seems to have been a durable compilation. I’ve found ads for it from 1962 to 1965. As the heydey of movie business was gone, few ads featured drawings of the characters, but here’s one that’s not very readable. It appeared on the bill with things like “Flipper” and a re-issue of “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.”

It's a Cuckoo

Tex Avery’s anonymous cat discovers the cuckoo he wants to kill is sitting atop his golf club in “The Cuckoo Clock” (released 1950). These are consecutive drawings; the first five are on single frames, the next two are on twos.



Mike Lah, Grant Simmons and Walt Clinton are the only credited animators.

Hollywood Holidays, 1951

Last year, we went through a bunch of Bob Thomas’ Yuletide season columns; Bob was the movie columnist for the Associated Press based in Hollywood. We left off at 1950. So, let’s pick it up for a Year in Review.

Actually, these two columns from 1950 are more of the quotes-of-the-year-in-review rather than ones of a Yuletide nature. He didn’t interview the stars at Christmas-time. But these are fun nonetheless and shows that being overly preoccupied with celebrities and gossip is not something restricted to the age of web sites.

Some footnotes to the column: Thomas is understandably coy (it is 1950, after all), as to background of why the Granger story is a “yawn.” The Crosby story happened in May; he actually did get a room when a bellboy recognised the singer, who had driven straight from Idaho with writer Bill Morrow and hadn’t shaved or bathed. Hotel Vancouver Night clerk Art Cameron later told the United Press “I thought they were a couple of bums or Indians from up north.” Crosby loved coming to B.C. to fish; of course, he was originally from Spokane so he was familiar with the region. Wanger was given four months in 1952 for jealously shooting his wife’s (Joan Bennett) agent in an area men would rather not be shot in.

1951 Finishes in Hollywood With New High, Low Points
By BOB THOMAS
HOLLYWOOD, Dec. 25—(AP)—Another troubled year in Hollywood is drawing to a close, so it's time to sit down and pick the highs and lows.
Pardon the poetry, but it’s the season, isn’t it? So I tried a different approach for getting into the annual summation of the year’s events in Hollywood. Here goes: Biggest news story—The Walter Wanger shooting.
Second biggest and winner of long-run honors—The Franchot Tone-Barbara Payton-Tom Neal affair.
Yawn of the year—The Shelly Winters-Farley Granger “romance.”
Biggest industry news—Louis B. Mayer’s exit from MGM.
Almost the biggest industry news—Warner Brothers’ offer to sell their interests, later retracted.
Brightest new box office stars—Martin and Lewis, Mario Lanza.
Losses of the year—Robert Walker, Fanny Brice, Maria Montez, Leon Errol.
Biggest blow to the bobby-sox set—Elizabeth Taylor’s divorce.
Biggest blow to the dowager set—Clark Gable’s divorce.
Freak news event of the year—A Vancouver hotel’s refusal to room Bing Crosby because he looked like a bum.
Runner-up—Arrest of Charles Coburn and his poker pals.
Most recurrent news item—Hedy Lamarr’s announcement she'll retire.
Most notable homecoming—Rita Hayworth’s.
Worst public relations — Frank Sinatra.
Best musical film — “American in Paris.”
Best drama — “A Place in the Sun.”
Father of the year — James Stewart, parent of twins.
Best male performances —Humphrey Bogart, “African Queen”; Marlon Brando, “Streetcar Named Desire”; Gene Kelly, “An American in Paris”; Fredric March, “Death of a Salesman”; Gregory Peck, “David and Bathsheba.”
Best female performances — Bette Davis, “Payment on Demand”; Katharine Hepburn, “African Queen”; Vivien Leigh, “Streetcar Named Desire”; Shelley Winters, “A Place In the Sun”; Jane Wyman, “The Blue Veil.”
Most promising newcomers— Debbie Reynolds, Mitzi Gaynor, Dale Robertson. Aldo Ray. Best low-budget picture—“The Well.”
And a Merry Christmas and lots of them to patient readers.

And one more from a few days later. Joyce Mathews was married twice to Milton Berle and twice to Billy Rose, the first time in 1956. She was between husbands when this column was written.

More Memorable Hollywood Quotes of Year Listed
By BOB THOMAS
HOLLYWOOD, Dec. 27—(AP)—Talk, talk, talk. There was lots of it emanating from Hollywood this year.
This was one of the film town’s talkingest years. Film folk were yacking all over the U.S., trying to convince citizens that Hollywood was full of solid citizens. Meanwhile, there was a lot of gabbing in Hollywood, plus a bit of spitting and shooting, that created another impression.
One of the year of talk, I have tried to cull the more memorable quotes. Here they are:
Frank Sinatra, irate at reporters who trailed him and Ava Gardner in Mexico before their marriage: “It’s a fine thing when we can’t go on a vacation without being chased.”
Whisky Scares Bugs
Humphrey Bogart, explaining how he escaped insects in Africa: “Nothing bites me. A solid wall of whisky keeps insects at bay.”
Paulette Goddard, learning ex-husband Burgess Meredith had married for the fourth time: “I think it was quite normal of him. He always was domestic.”
Actress Kay Scott, divorcing auto dealer Douglas Nerney: “Music has been part of my life, but when I tried to play classics on the piano my husband turned on the television full force.”
Ethel Barrymore, learning that John Barrymore, Jr. had skipped out on a summer theater play: “John let the family down. It’s the first time in 300 years a Barrymore failed to comply with the billing. I’m deathly sick about it.”
Loves Razor Blades
Joyce Mathews, after slashing her wrists in Billy Rose’s bathroom: “I just love razor blades.”
Director Fletcher Markle in an interview: “Now please don’t write me up as a genius like some of the others have. I’m just a fellow who works hard.”
Tallulah Bankhead, asked if she would enter politics: “Heavens, I wouldn’t inflict that on any country.”
Katharine Hepburn, declaring that plain women—like herself—know how to make love: “The beautiful women are usually too busy being fascinating.”
“We’re Happy—Goodbye.”
Robert Mitchum, answering the Hollywood Press women who voted him “the most unco-operative”: “Your gracious award became a treasured addition to a collection of averse citations. These include prominent mention in several 10 worst-dressed-American lists and a society columnist’s 10 most-desirable-male-guest list, which happily was published on the date I was made welcome at the county jail.”
Fred Allen: “It took 18 years in radio to ruin my health. It took three shows on television to ruin my reputation.”
Franchot Tone, greeting reporters on return from a honeymoon appearance tour with bride Barbara Payton: “We're home and we’re happy—goodbye.”
Walter Wanger, after firing the shot heard ‘round the world: “I shot him because he broke up my home.”