Hogan Isn't With Us Any More

You can count on a sign commenting on a pun in a Tex Avery cartoon, and “Batty Baseball” is no exception. But in addition to being a gag, the sign may very well have stated a fact.



There’s no writer credit on the cartoon, but the likely storyman was Rich Hogan, who wrote for Avery at Warners and then left to join him at MGM. If that’s the case, he wasn’t with the studio any more when it announced in October 1943 that “Screwball Baseball” (the original name) would be the first release “in a special slapstick series” (as Boxoffice magazine called it) for the coming season. Seems the military had something in mind for him.

Aside from his cartoon credits, there’s not much information around about Hogan. He’s the forgotten man in the story of Bugs Bunny; he received the story credit for the wabbit’s breakthrough cartoon, “A Wild Hare,” in 1940.

Richard Adams Hogan was born in Buffalo, New York on June 7, 1913, the oldest of seven children of John Martin and Florence L. (Adams) Hogan. His father was a customer service manager for Buffalo General Electric Co., active in the Knights of Columbus and Secretary of the Buffalo Golf Club. Hogan’s World War Two draft record states that he spent four years in art school and the New York Times of June 10, 1937 lists his name in a story about graduates of the Pratt Institute.

The Buffalo Courier-Express of April 17, 1940 has this brief biography:

SCRIPT BY BUFFALONIAN
Cross Country Detour, color cartoon, at Hippodrome
The Merrie Melody color cartoon, Cross Country Detour, which has been receiving special mention from press and public and is now at Shea's Hippodrome, is of special interest to Buffalo.
The script for the film was written by Rich Hogan, son of Mr. and Mrs. J. Martin Hogan of 181 Sterling Avenue. Rich has been with the Leon Schlesinger Studios in Hollywood as cartoonist and writer for four years. He has written many scripts for cartoons but Cross Country Detour is the first to receive nationwide acclaim.
In Buffalo, Rich attended St. Margaret's School and was graduated from St. Joseph's Collegiate Institute. He then went to the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn to study cartoon drawing before joining the Schlesinger staff in Hollywood.

His first credit on a Warners cartoon is in Frank Tashlin’s “The Major Lied Till Dawn,” released in August 1938 and his last is on Chuck Jones’ “The Brave Little Bat,” released in September 1941. At the time, Hogan was renting a room at the large home of Disney artist David Swift’s parents along with Bob Givens (who drew the first Bugs Bunny model sheet), John Freeman (also at Disney) and Rogers Brackett, at the time a clerk at a movie studio and who was later known for his personal connection to James Dean.

Daily Variety reported on June 24, 1942 that Hogan had joined the MGM cartoon staff, buying out his contract with Leon Schlesinger for $1000 with a year left to go. The trade paper says Hogan’s first assignment was on Avery’s “Blitz Wolf.” But things don’t quite add up. Avery had arrived at MGM the previous September and Variety reported on January 16, 1942 he was assigned to work on that cartoon. “Blitz Wolf” wouldn’t have sat there for six months without a writer. Animation historian Keith Scott speculates Hogan did it on a freelance basis. “Blitz Wolf” was released August 22, 1942. Four days later, Hogan enlisted. His name appears on several other shorts but then there is a period when there are no writer credits until Heck Allen’s name on “Screwball Squirrel,” put into production next after “Batty Baseball.” Animator Berny Wolf told historian Mike Barrier that Allen replaced Hogan, so it’s possible “Batty Baseball” was Hogan’s last cartoon before his military service. The Animator, the Cartoonists Union newsletter, reported in its Sept. 7, 1942 iaaue that Hogan was now at Fort McArthur in San Pedro.

Hogan re-appears as a storyman after the war. Weekly Variety reported on June 12, 1946 he had returned to Metro after 42 months in the Army. In the meantime, he had gotten married in New Orleans the previous March. His first cartoon credit shows up on “Lucky Ducky” (released October 1948) though, once again, there are a couple of Avery cartoons released after Hogan returned with no story credit. His name appears later on such great cartoons as “Bad Luck Blackie,” “Little Rural Riding Hood” and “Magical Maestro.” Hogan’s animation career ended when Avery left MGM for health reasons in May 1950. Dick Lundy took over Avery’s unit but Hogan didn’t stay. He settled in Sherman Oaks and got into the real estate and development business with Coldwell Banker. Later, he and his wife Marge had a home in Studio City and the two were part of the San Fernando Valley’s social set through the 1960s. The pair had four children, including a set of twins. Tragedy clouded the twins’ seventh birthday party—Hogan spotted a six-year-old neighbour girl face down in the pool. She was pronounced dead in hospital.

Post-cartoon career newspaper stories refer to him as “Dick” Hogan. Warners animator Phil Monroe did the same in an interview with historian Mike Barrier. In the late ‘30s, there was a contract player at RKO named Dick Hogan. That may be why Hogan went with “Rich” in his on-screen credit.

Hogan seems to have disappeared in the ‘70s—he was divorced in 1977—and he died in Los Angeles on January 28, 1981 at age 67.

Punchy Backgrounds

The last Fox and Crow cartoon released by Columbia Pictures wasn’t made by Columbia Pictures. It was made by UPA. The story seems fairly well known. Columbia got rid of its own studio that made third-rate imitations of Warners cartoons and worked out a deal with Stephen Bosustow, whose studio was obligated to use the Fox and Crow characters in some of the shorts. By the time “Punchy De Leon” was released in January 1950, Columbia had already sent the first Mr. Magoo cartoon (“Ragtime Bear”) to theatres. Columbia loved Magoo. So the Fox and Crow were banished to Re-issue Land which, as the ‘50s wore on, became an increasingly busy place.

“Punchy” has some fun animation in places but, being a UPA cartoon, the designs are the main focus. Here are a few of the backgrounds.



This background is actually a gag. The Fox and Crow think they’ve found paradise in Florida. The camera pulls back to reveal it’s a billboard and then pans over an ugly swamp.



I haven’t been able to snip together the whole pan of the jungle to the opening where the golden fountain is. So here it is in two parts. The pan is right to left. Some liked plants shaped like hands and fingers.



This jungle background is used during a running scene, so the foliage is at an angle to heighten the impression of speed. The ends of the background don’t quite match up but because there’s a fast pan over it, you can’t tell. There’s another hand and what seems to be a shadow puppet of a rabbit.



The term “Background” isn’t used in this cartoon (this is UPA, not one of those other studios, you know). Bill Hurtz gets a design credit and Herb Klynn and Jules Engel receive colour credits.

Turntable Tom

Tom twirls on a turntable in 14 drawings in “Puss N' Toots” (1942).



Bill Hanna, Joe Barbera and Fred Quimby are the only names on the credits. No animators.

Krazy is Paramount

Time for more ads promoting Krazy Kat cartoons, made by the Charles Mintz studio for distribution by Paramount. These are from the latter half of 1928 from the pages of The Film Daily, based in New York City.

1928 was an election year, so one ad has Fleischer-esque drawings of the symbols of the Democrat and Republican parties.

Animators Manny Gould and Ben Harrison get credit on all of them.

Krazy was still a silent character at the time. Ironically, the last ad has Krazy singing a song made popular by Al Jolson who ushered in the sound era, making silent films obsolete within a few quick years.



We’ll have more in a future post.

A Mother of a TV Show

The poor DuMont network didn’t have a chance. Four TV channels were at least one too many.

That sounds strange in this endless channel universe of today. But things were quite different in late ‘40s. NBC and CBS had sewn up almost all the big stars for radio, ready to push them into television, and ABC got the leftovers. But there had been experimental television dating back to the late ‘20s and somewhat regular programming on several stations in New York during World War Two. One of the stations (W2XWV, later WABD) was owned by DuMont. From all this, TV networks evolved. When they started beefing up their programming as more and more sets went on the market around 1948, DuMont didn’t have any big names, nor could it afford any if they had been available. So it built its first big hit on schmaltz.

You can’t go wrong appealing to the blue-rinse set. Tom Breneman learned that on radio. Liberace learned that on TV. And so did DuMont. Its first big hit was a daytime show called “Okay Mother,” which began appearing on the network in 1949 after a year on WABD. By then it was the highest-rated afternoon show in New York—on radio or TV. It was the kind of show that only a mother would love. Critics hated it.

Here’s what noted Herald Tribune syndicate John Crosby had to say after an astonished viewing of it. His review appeared in newspapers starting May 25, 1950.

Mater Earns Affection On TV Show
By JOHN CROSBY
Day-time television has been strenuously avoided in this space as a matter of simple sportsmanship. You shouldn't shoot sitting ducks. However, this duck has been sitting in one position so long I’m beginning to suspect he’s already dead.
I have neither the space nor the inclination to go into all of day-time television. I submit only one specimen. Not a typical specimen, either. I’ve picked out the most terrible day-time program I’ve yet run across, the deadest duck on the air.
It’s called “Okay, Mother,” and it’s on the Dumont network Mondays through Fridays. The bright, particular star of this hideous firmament is Dennis James, a man of many faces, none of them especially edifying. “Okay, Mother,” as its title implies, is a salute to motherhood, and if anything will kill motherhood in this country, this is the one that will do it. Down in Washington, we have the Communists undermining the country, and here in New York we have Dennis James undermining motherhood. Nothing is safe any more.
HUNDREDS ROUNDED UP
James or his henchmen—who, I suspect, are trolls—round up two or three hundred mothers every day. I don’t know how they do this. I imagine it's something like an elephant hunt. The beaters fan out in the New Jersey veldt, setting fire to the bush and shouting their weird cries, and gradually they drive the poor, hunted mothers into the krall. Then each day, the mothers are shipped to New York for exhibition.
I must confess they don't seem to mind being exhibited. They take to it like a dead duck to television, to coin a phrase. Almost every single one tries to get her face into the camera and, by George, almost every single one succeeds. Most easily domesticated mothers I ever saw.
“Who’s the girl with brush and broom?” shouts James.
“Mother!” cry the captives dutifully.
“Who’s the girl who chases gloom?” says James.
JUST YELL ‘MOTHER!’
“Mother!” is the riposte to this one. (No, they don't have to push any teak logs around, junior. They just have to yell mother at appropriate intervals.)
“Lotsa fun, laughs and lotsa loving,” James declares heartily.
The novitiate is likely to get the impression his ears are playing him tricks from that last work.
But, no. Loving is what James said and loving is what he does. Anyway, it’s a reasonably accurate euphemism for what he does. What he does is to kiss the mamas, fondle them, hug them and, in general, muss ‘em up. They appear to like it.
James—I throw this in as limply as possible—is tall, dark, husky and handsome, and I expect he appeals not only to the girls on the set but to the ones at home.
Thousands of them probably swoon over their ironing boards causing—I devoutly hope—endless casualties. James may easily have set fire to more mothers than any man since Nero.
There isn’t much else to tell you about this program. James, from time to time, recites what he calls Mothergrams, a form of verse I shan’t inflect on you. Occasionally, he vaults two or three rows of mothers to land squarely on the lap of a mother in the upper tiers, busses her roundly and vaults back—easily the most specialized form of exercise I ever saw. For all I know he’s the only athlete in the world who can do this.
SAME DENNIS JAMES
Incidentally, this is the same Dennis James who kids the bejabbers out of wrestling on TV by simulating the sound of breaking bones, torn limbs and other tortures on a series of mechanical contraptions. He's pretty funny at it, too. Just why he should get mixed up in this mother thing, I don’t know. Maybe he needs the money. Maybe he never had a mother. Or maybe — this is my theory — the whole thing is a freak of transmission, a collision between a cumulus cloud and a low pressure area which produces picture that never took place at all.
If that last theory is true, I apologize to James and to mothers everywhere. I now propose to adjourn to my favorite saloon. There I shall sing “Mother’s Day Falls Once a Year But Every Day is Mother’s Day to Me" until closing time. Or until they throw me out.

As funny as Crosby’s column is, funnier still is how the show got on the air in the first place. Dave Weinstein’s The Forgotten Network: DuMont and the Birth of American Television relates how during DuMont wrestling telecasts, James would pause during the hold-by-hold and say “Okay, Mother?” as kind of a question to female viewers to see if they understood flying mares and step-over toe-holds and other terminology restricted to the squared circle. The fact the mothers couldn’t answer back was irrelevant—he was talking to them, he was paying attention to them. And that’s just what he did when DuMont bosses took his catchphrase and made a daytime TV show out of it.

James was DuMont’s first big star and like all of DuMont’s stars (Jackie Gleason being the most noteable), he bolted for a bigger network. People will probably know James today as a host of “The New Price is Right” because of YouTube. In the ‘60s, he seemed to be everyone’s back-up game show host, and I remember he hosted a show called “PDQ.” As for DuMont, it passed away quiet and unnoticed in 1956. But “Okay Mother” lives on the internet. This broadcast is from June 1950.

Real Gone Woody Backgrounds

A week ago, we featured some of the brushwork from the 1954 Walter Lantz cartoon “Real Gone Woody.” We didn’t mention the backgrounds by Ray Jacobs and Art Landy. Let’s post a couple. I love the building exteriors. Here’s Winnie Woodpecker’s super-modern house and the drive-in.



This is part of the exterior of the school; there’s a quick pan to the right to a window but I can’t get the colours of the frames to match, so I can’t snip them together.



Next, the bedrooms of typical high school boys Woody and Buzz. There isn’t a clear one of Buzz’s in the cartoon (Buzz’s phone is cordless, except in close-up).



The Hanna-Barbera cartoon studio was known for having TV characters go past the same building or tree or light socket over and over. The background loop was generally fairly seamless. But at the Lantz studio, they couldn’t do it right with higher budgets. Below are two consecutive frames. Notice how the background jumps.



Still, that’s minor. This is still one of Paul J. Smith’s finest cartoons, helped by a fine story and some good designs.

Wacky Wabbit Exit

Bob Clampett’s second cartoon with Bugs Bunny was “The Wacky Wabbit” (1942) and the first written by Warren Foster. It’s got some amusing bits and one of those Johnny Johnsen openings with two overlay drawings over a mountainous desert background.

The animators in Clampett’s unit are now Bob McKimson, Rod Scribner, Virgil Ross and Sid Sutherland. I’m not sure who animated this Elmer Fudd exit off stage, but Elmer’s colour leaves first, followed by his outline.



Lots of wiggling of fingers and clasping of hands in this little scene. Neat little bit of acting. And, yes, Bugs has a bleached steer skull on him for over a third of the cartoon.

Life of Benny, 1962

One of the reasons Jack Benny’s death in 1974 came as such a shock was that he was always so active, almost right up to his passing. He joked about being 39 but he really did look younger than his age (on camera at least) and it may have been because he was always doing something.

Here’s a story from the Associated Press from 1962 about his latest tour which was to take him to New York. It’s made out to be kind of a return-to-vaudeville story, though I doubt Jack shared the bill with Fink’s Mules.

His comments about television are more interesting. One wonders if “being a breeze” begat complacency, especially considering the hours he poured into his show in his radio days. And while Jack said he never worried about ratings, it was his ratings that kept him coming into living rooms year after year.

Jack Benny Going Back To Broadway
By BOB THOMAS
AP Movie-Television Writer
HOLLYWOOD, Dec. 7 (AP) — Jack Benny is returning to the medium he left 31 years ago—the Broadway revue.
It was in 1931 when the young (37) Waukegan Ill., funnyman walked out on a tour of “Earl Carroll’s Vanities,” in which he had starred in New York. The move was decidedly not in keeping with his later fame as a penny-pincher.
“I was getting $1,500 a week, and you can imagine how big that looked in 1931,” he says.
But he declined the job because the show was beginning a rugged tour of one-nighters. Besides, he had his eye on something else called radio. And the rest, as they say along the Rialto, is history.
On Feb. 11, the comedian will open “The Jack Benny Show” at the O’Keefe in Toronto and head for a six-week stand at the Ziegfeld Theater in New York, starting Feb. 27. He'll take along a troupe of performers including Jane Morgan and the Beverly Hillbillies — that's his own zany combo not the television series.
Jack Benny is 68. He conducts a weekly television show, plays his fiddle all over the country to raise funds for longhair music, does his act in Las Vegas showrooms at less charitable fees. So why does he return to Broadway?
“Because it’s fun," he said. “I like what I do; I always have. That's why I work. “This season in television has been a breeze for me. I’ve been able to play nine holes of golf every day. I get in an hour or two of practice with my violin each day. My only problem is what to do with my nights.”
TV RATINGS
The Jack Benny Show has bounced back in the ratings after a rocky season last year. The shift from Sunday (opposite front-running “Bonanza”) to Tuesday undoubtedly helped.
“But I can’t worry about ratings,” he remarked. “There are too many unknown qualities that determine them. Do you know that the change of one phone call can make your rating drop?
“I’m gratified if the rating is good, especially since we’re up against two strong shows, Dick Powell and ‘The Untouchables.’ I suppose we get some help from a good lead-in—Red Skelton precedes us. On the other hand, some people might say they’ve had an hour of comedy and they want something--dramatic. Who can tell?
STANDARD OF QUALITY
“All I know is that I maintain a pretty steady standard of quality. That’s all I can do.”
There’s no telling how long he will be doing so, Benny never seems to age or to slacken his pace. His secret seems to be a dedication to the sensible life. He works hard but unbends on the golf course. He eats sparingly and has only an occasional cocktail before dinner.
Performing stimulates him; the sound of laughter is a great tonic. Unlike other comics, he also is good listener, His fellow performers love to sharpen their wit before him, because they know what a ready audience he is.
But his real secret of living may be his much-maligned violin. “When I play it, I can’t think about anything else,” he said. “It’s the greatest relaxation in the world.”

A Piece of Mickey Tail

In an era of smart-ass cartoon characters of Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Woody Woodpecker and Heckle and Jeckle, Walt Disney had an idea—let’s make more Mickey Mouse cartoons.

One wonders what Disney was thinking in 1951. Perhaps he saw the success—and accolades—UPA’s “Gerald McBoing Boing” had recently received and figured the time was right to spotlight a non-rambunctious character who could be child-like if need be. At any rate, the plan—if there really was one—was short-lived. The lion’s share of the studio’s shorts weren’t the mouse’s share; they starred Goofy or Donald Duck.

Here’s Disney talking about it in a feature story with the Associated Press. The most puzzling thing about the Story According to Disney is something else entirely. It’s his comment that Mickey had not been drawn with a tail in years. I fully admit I’m not conversant in the Disney shorts, but I looked at copies of “Mickey’s Garden” (1935) and “Mickey and the Seal” (1948). He has a tail in both. So I don’t know when Mickey was tailless.

The photo accompanying the story is a publicity shot of “Pluto’s Party” (1952), directed by storyman Milt Schafer. Perhaps appropriately, a tail enters the plot.

Mickey Mouse, One-Time Film Favorite, Hits Comeback Trail
By JACK QUIGG
Hollywood, March 3. (AP) — Mickey Mouse, all-time international movie favorite, is hitting the comeback trail. He’s getting his tail back, too.
After ten lean years, the fabulous rodent, who in some 125 films has played scholar, great lover, cowboy, explorer or medieval knight with equal aplomb, is set for a new series of starring roles. “We never really dropped Mickey,” says Walt Disney, who created the tiny dynamo 22 years ago and made a fortune off him. “We just kind of drifted away from him.”
The toast of the world 15 years ago, Mickey began taking a back seat to other members of the Disney cartoon family in 1938. That was the year Walt made his first feature-length fantasy, Snow White. That year also marked the emergence of Donald Duck as a rival. Disney’s crew, which once turned out 15 Mickey Mouse starrers a year, cut back to three or four. Donald, Pluto and Goofy, who broke in with Mickey, became famous in their own films. Dumbo, Bambi and the Three Caballeros stepped into the limelight in elaborate feature pictures.
Was ‘De-Emphasized’
Disney says Mickey was de-emphasized, not because his popularity waned but because he’s tricky to handle.
“Only my top men are good enough to work with Mickey,” Disney says (he’s always done Mickey’s voice himself). “Because he’s a nice, sympathetic character, not a natural comedian like Donald. It takes a lot of ingenuity to write a story for Mickey.”
During the war the little fellow became a complete casualty; Disney was devoting 85 per cent of his production to special armed forces projects. Mickey has made only four or five films since.
With his comeback in four cartoons this year, many of the younger generation will be meeting Mickey for the first time; and they'll be seeing him with a tail. Maybe you’ve forgotten that Mickey has been tailless for more than a decade.
When Walt first drew him he was a skinny little tyke. His only clothes were a pair of shorts and shoes and he had a tail. But for one reason or another, Walt can’t remember exactly why, they lopped his tail off.
Why tack it on again?
“We came to realize,” Walt says, “that he’s not as cute without it. It’s an expressive thing. I remember he used to twirl it when he was nervous or angry. It carries him through action smoothly, gives him balance and grace.”
There have been other changes through the years. As he aged, Mickey graduated to long pants. They gave him a shirt. Once spidery, his limbs thickened and his body assumed a pear shape. His eyes, formerly dots, were given lids. In the new series he’ll have eyebrows.
Mickey wasn’t Disney’s first love. The first was a cat. The second was a rabbit named Oswald. But Walt wasn’t quite satisfied. He wanted to make improvements and when the company he worked for said no, he launched his own business.
The first two mouse cartoons didn’t make much of a splash. The industry was being turned topsy-turvy by a new element—sound. Walt took his third Mickey to New York and had it synchronized for sound. They premiered Steamboat Willie at the old Colony Theater in New York in 1928 and the mouse was famous.
There never was a more versatile fellow than Mickey. He’s been a tailor, a steam shovel operator, fire chief, cop, musician, magician, inventor, football hero, polo player, farmer, whaler, tourist, hula dancer, scientist and gas station attendant.
He's been around the world—to Argentina, Alaska, Africa, the Alps, Arabia, Brazil, even to Gulliver’s mythical Lilliput. Once he got going there was no stopping him.
His piping voice was translated into ten foreign languages. He had fan clubs in 50 countries. His likeness was given a choice spot in Mme. Tussaud’s waxworks in London. He got into the Encyclopedia Brittanica and got Disney into Who’s Who. He won Disney an Academy Award and countless other accolades. And his face appeared on armed forces insignes and on hundreds of commercial products.

Mickey, of course, made a real comeback, but I’m sure Disney didn’t know about it at the time he talked to the AP. In 1955, “The Mickey Mouse Club” appeared on the air, with Mickey as a friendly host. Mickey didn’t have to worry about comedy or carrying a cartoon short, All he had to be was genial, and that was his strong suit by then. The same thing could be said about Mickey’s voice when he hosted his own show starting a few years later.

A Hidden Saloon Owner

The story goes that MGM cartoon producer Fred Quimby wanted Hugh Harman to produce funny cartoons like they were making at Warner Bros. So Harman made “The Lonesome Stranger” (1940), even though he had no interest in that style of cartoon. Its puns and surreal gags remind one of a Warners cartoon of that era. And so did some of the posing. Here’s Harman emulating a mouth exaggeration popularised by Tex Avery.



Mel Blanc adds some familiar voices to allow for a further comparison with the Warner cartoons. But because this is a Hugh Harman cartoon, there’s character movement all over the place. It seems like the whole cartoon is animated on ones so Harman can show off how fluid his animation can be (ie. just like that unspeakable Walt fellow). Warners was quite content to use twos unless necessary so the visuals of this cartoon don’t really look like a Warners cartoon, despite the similarities.

You’ll see an inside gag in the background. The saloon is run by Willie Hopkins. Hopkins was one of the original layout people hired by Quimby when the studio opened in 1937. Like Harman, his career went back to the silent days, but a bit further than Harman’s.

Willie D’Artigue Hopkins was born in Scotland on November 9, 1884 and emigrated to the U.S. in 1904, marrying Georgie King of Delaware and settling in Philadelphia by 1905. His first child died at birth, his second at age 11 months, his third survived into adulthood. His 1918 draft card lists him as “sculptor, Universal Film Co.” and living in Los Angeles. He was one of the first workers in clay animation, releasing “Miracles in Mud” every other week as part of the Universal Screen Magazine starting in late 1916. Hopkins, inexplicably living in Dallas, patented his process with a Charles L. Sudmann in 1916. In 1919, he was the art director for “Everywoman,” a Bebe Daniels-Monte Blue film released by Paramount, and was responsible for the palace sculptures in Douglas Fairbanks’ epic “The Three Musketeers” (1921), including a 5 1/2-foot bronze bust of Charles I. In May that year, an unbylined piece in the Evening Independent of Massilon, Ohio revealed Hopkins had begun a production company and had toured ten countries with the idea of making 26 “short features each depicting the native surroundings of a famous poet, author or composer.”

In 1930, he and his wife, who was under a nurse’s care, were still in Los Angeles, but by January 1931, Film Daily revealed he was working in the special effects department at Paramount in New York. His wife was buried in Los Angeles in October 1934 and Hopkins re-married. He and his new wife Marion T. (a doctor) are listed in the 1938 Los Angeles Directory not far from filmdom’s Gower Gulch (they were on Gower between Sunset and Hollywood Blvds). His occupation is “artist.” The 1940 census lists him as “technician, motion picture studio.” He never received credit on a single MGM cartoon; none of the layout people did for many years.

Hopkins died in Los Angeles on August 29, 1949. By then, Metro was releasing real Tex Avery pictures. It didn’t need uninterested Hugh Harman’s fakes.