The cat’s still holding out his arms as he scoots around the house (one with a yard and located in the middle of a business district).
The end result.
Mike Lah, Walt Clinton and Grant Simmons are the animators.
Monday, 22 September 2014
Elegant Alley Cat
He may be a mangy alley cat, but the title character in Tex Avery’s “Ventriloquist Cat” has a bit of elegance nonetheless. Note his expressions and his pinky held in mid-air as he plots his next explosive trick on Spike.
The cat’s still holding out his arms as he scoots around the house (one with a yard and located in the middle of a business district).
The end result.
Mike Lah, Walt Clinton and Grant Simmons are the animators.
The cat’s still holding out his arms as he scoots around the house (one with a yard and located in the middle of a business district).
The end result.
Mike Lah, Walt Clinton and Grant Simmons are the animators.
Sunday, 21 September 2014
Rangoon Wilson
Publicity agents made up wild stories. Stars invented their own past. Who was to know otherwise?
Anyone remotely familiar with the Jack Benny show can name his jolly long-time announcer. And fans are pretty much aware that Don Wilson was raised in Denver, Colorado, that he worked in radio there and a singing career took him to the San Francisco Bay area, thence to Los Angeles. But that isn’t what’s contained in one amazing biography published by the New York Sun (motto: “If you see it in the Sun, it’s true”) as Wilson was starting to gain some fame.
The story was in the paper’s radio and television section of January 13, 1934 (yes, there was television then). Wilson wasn’t on the Benny show yet. He was an NBC staff announcer who had specialised in sports on the West Coast before moving to New York City. His biography in the Sun is bogus and you have to wonder if someone was playing a joke. The biography in the story for Ken Carpenter, best known as Bing Crosby’s announcer on The Kraft Music Hall and other shows, is accurate, as least off the top of my head. There’s no byline on the story, so I suspect it was by a Sun staffer rewriting an NBC publicity handout.
TWO MEN PRAISED FOR WORK AT GAME
Announcers at Rose Bowl Little Known in East.
Two men, both experts in their field but practically unknown in the East, acted as sports announcers at the Stanford-Columbia game in the Rose Bowl at Pasadena on New Year's Day, and although working under conditions as revere as observers ever encountered, thrill the nation with the accuracy and completeness of their description. Their work brought praise as fulsome as that which the press and public gave to the winning team from Morningside Heights. Yet because both announcers were Westerners few of the millions who listened to their unruffled explanation of plays knew more about them than their names. Kenneth Carpenter and Don Wilson were the pair who were assigned to the year's greatest football spectacle. Wilson was brought East for several gridiron games last fall, but Carpenter, being a member of a Los Angeles station, had limited his circle of admirers to the West Coast.
Into Radio by Accident.
Kenneth Carpenter, 33 years of age, was born in Avon, Ill., the son of a Universalist minister. After graduation from Lombard College in literal arts he was, successively, a copy writer for a department store and advertising agency. His introduction to radio was accidental. He approached an auto agency owner, Earle C. Anthony, who also controlled several West Coast stations, with a plan for automobile advertising, and us more of a prank than anything else was tried out as an announcer. He met every requirement and immediately concentrated his interest on radio. He is now chief announcer at KFI and specializes in the descriptions of sports besides assuming duties in the continuity and production departments. He is married and the father of one child.
Born In Rangoon.
Don Wilson, the other announcer, was born in Rangoon, India, but spent his boyhood in California and on an Oregon ranch. At 15 he ran away from home and in three months traveled 15,000 miles with a company of Chautauqua entertainers. Tiring of this life he returned home and later matriculated at the University of Redlands, where he acquired eleven letters in various sports. A season with an oil company was followed by twenty-five games of professional football. In 1928 he joined KPO, San Francisco as a continuity writer, but he couldn't keep away from the gridiron. As assistant to the regular sports announcer, Wilson was given the job of keeping the windows of the field booth clean. One day when the regular announcer failed to show up, Wilson found himself in lone charge of the microphone. From that day to the present Don Wilson has followed the pigskin East, West, North and South, always adding to his reputation for knowledge of the game and for his uncanny ability to supply, a smooth, placid but nevertheless thrilling description of plays and players.
I suspect the closest Don Wilson ever got to Rangoon was when he drove past some Burma Shave signs. Wilson was born in Lincoln, Nebraska to Lincoln and Charlotte Louise (Hatch) Wilson. His father was a druggist. The family was in Denver by the time Don was ten and that’s where he went to school and then into radio.
While we’re talking about Wilson facts and fancies, I was always curious whether his middle name really was “Harlow” or if that was something the Benny writers invented. If you’ve had the same question, take a look at Donsey’s World War One draft file card. That should settle the question.
Wilson took over the announcing chores for the Benny show when it changed sponsors from Chevrolet to General Tire in April 1934; Alois Havrilla didn’t move with the change of sponsors and Wilson won an audition. He remained with Jack through his television series that ended in 1965. Jack’s later TV specials used off-screen announcers (I believe Bill Baldwin was one), but Wilson made cameo appearances. We’ll have a more accurate newspaper feature on him here next week.
The story was in the paper’s radio and television section of January 13, 1934 (yes, there was television then). Wilson wasn’t on the Benny show yet. He was an NBC staff announcer who had specialised in sports on the West Coast before moving to New York City. His biography in the Sun is bogus and you have to wonder if someone was playing a joke. The biography in the story for Ken Carpenter, best known as Bing Crosby’s announcer on The Kraft Music Hall and other shows, is accurate, as least off the top of my head. There’s no byline on the story, so I suspect it was by a Sun staffer rewriting an NBC publicity handout.
TWO MEN PRAISED FOR WORK AT GAME
Announcers at Rose Bowl Little Known in East.
Two men, both experts in their field but practically unknown in the East, acted as sports announcers at the Stanford-Columbia game in the Rose Bowl at Pasadena on New Year's Day, and although working under conditions as revere as observers ever encountered, thrill the nation with the accuracy and completeness of their description. Their work brought praise as fulsome as that which the press and public gave to the winning team from Morningside Heights. Yet because both announcers were Westerners few of the millions who listened to their unruffled explanation of plays knew more about them than their names. Kenneth Carpenter and Don Wilson were the pair who were assigned to the year's greatest football spectacle. Wilson was brought East for several gridiron games last fall, but Carpenter, being a member of a Los Angeles station, had limited his circle of admirers to the West Coast.
Into Radio by Accident.
Kenneth Carpenter, 33 years of age, was born in Avon, Ill., the son of a Universalist minister. After graduation from Lombard College in literal arts he was, successively, a copy writer for a department store and advertising agency. His introduction to radio was accidental. He approached an auto agency owner, Earle C. Anthony, who also controlled several West Coast stations, with a plan for automobile advertising, and us more of a prank than anything else was tried out as an announcer. He met every requirement and immediately concentrated his interest on radio. He is now chief announcer at KFI and specializes in the descriptions of sports besides assuming duties in the continuity and production departments. He is married and the father of one child.
Born In Rangoon.
Don Wilson, the other announcer, was born in Rangoon, India, but spent his boyhood in California and on an Oregon ranch. At 15 he ran away from home and in three months traveled 15,000 miles with a company of Chautauqua entertainers. Tiring of this life he returned home and later matriculated at the University of Redlands, where he acquired eleven letters in various sports. A season with an oil company was followed by twenty-five games of professional football. In 1928 he joined KPO, San Francisco as a continuity writer, but he couldn't keep away from the gridiron. As assistant to the regular sports announcer, Wilson was given the job of keeping the windows of the field booth clean. One day when the regular announcer failed to show up, Wilson found himself in lone charge of the microphone. From that day to the present Don Wilson has followed the pigskin East, West, North and South, always adding to his reputation for knowledge of the game and for his uncanny ability to supply, a smooth, placid but nevertheless thrilling description of plays and players.
I suspect the closest Don Wilson ever got to Rangoon was when he drove past some Burma Shave signs. Wilson was born in Lincoln, Nebraska to Lincoln and Charlotte Louise (Hatch) Wilson. His father was a druggist. The family was in Denver by the time Don was ten and that’s where he went to school and then into radio.
Wilson took over the announcing chores for the Benny show when it changed sponsors from Chevrolet to General Tire in April 1934; Alois Havrilla didn’t move with the change of sponsors and Wilson won an audition. He remained with Jack through his television series that ended in 1965. Jack’s later TV specials used off-screen announcers (I believe Bill Baldwin was one), but Wilson made cameo appearances. We’ll have a more accurate newspaper feature on him here next week.
Saturday, 20 September 2014
Danny Webb
In the beginning was Mel Blanc. Well, that’s how it seemed.
If you were a kid who watched Warner Bros. cartoons on TV in the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s, you knew he was the voice of all the characters. The cartoons themselves said so in writing at the beginning. No one else.
A few of those kids grew up to write about the cartoons and pretty soon discovered Mel Blanc wasn’t the only one. They revealed in books there were people named Arthur Q. Bryan and Billy Bletcher and Robert C. Bruce and Stan Freberg and someone you heard on TV cartoons named Daws Butler—and that they were in some of those cartoons, too.
And Danny Webb was another.
Keith Scott, Hames Ware and Graham Webb spent some time unravelling the Webb story, back in a pencil-and-paper day when there was no internet so research meant going to libraries and archives, or doing interviews with old-time animation people. Webb’s career in cartoons was comparatively short and, like fellow Warners and Lantz voice man Kent Rogers, ended when the war came along. Webb emerged from the service and embarked on a new career.
Webb was born David Weberman in New York City, apparently on May 24, 1906, the third child of Herman and Lena (Rubin) Weberman. His father, a mere 5-foot-4, emigrated to the U.S. from Budapest in 1887 and was in the fur business as a cutter and a salesman. When Webb arrived in Hollywood, he was using the name Dave Weber. Daily Variety of October 1, 1938 took note of the change in billing:
Danny Webb Set
Danny Webb signed at Columbia for lead in series of 12 short subjects. First of group is 'Behind the Eight Ball.' Webb was formerly known as Dave Webber, voice dubber for animated cartoons.
Radio Daily first takes notice of him in its edition of April 7, 1937:
Dave Weber, who did the radio star impersonations on the Burns & Allen anniversary show [Feb. 17, 1937], has been signed as comic for Superio Macaroni's half hour variety show with Jimmy Tolson, m.c, going into its third week on KFAC. Studio audience sits at sidewalk cafe tables, eats spaghetti.
Variety began reporting on him soon after. Here are the shorties that only deal with his animation work. Not all of these blurbs are complete. The radio show is intriguing.
Weber's Voice Disguises In Mintz's Short
Charles Mintz’ newest Screen Gem cartoon short subject for Columbia, 'Sing Time,' has gone into production with Joe De Nat handling musical direction and Dave Weber doing a series of vocal impersonations of screen celebs. Short is based on the radio community sing idea and Weber impersonates the voices of such air names as Bing Crosby, Rudy Vallee, Eddie Cantor, Andy Devine and others. (July 2, 1937)
Dave Weber Works
Tregg Brown has engaged Dave Weber, radio comic, for voice effects in Leon Schlesinger cartoons. (Oct. 9, 1937)
Dave Weber to Produce Looney Tunes’ Airer
Dave Weber, who is dialect advisor on Metro's The Girl of the Golden West,' has been signed by A. M. (Doc) Howe to co-produce the radio program of Leon Schlesinger's airing of 'Looney Tunes.' Deal was closed yesterday and program is planned to hit the ether early next year. Charles Isaacs is here to write the programs. Howe is dickering with two important radio advertisers as possible sponsors. (Nov. 13, 1937)
Weber Dialogs Cartoons
Dave Weber has been retained by Sam [Charles] Mintz to record dialog for the new series of cartoons now being animated. (Dec. 2, 1937)
Weber Voices Cartoon
Dave Weber, dialect expert and voice characterizer, has just been signed for the second series of Leon Schlesinger Cartoon Travel-Talks. Weber also did the voices in ‘Pingo Pongo,’ which was held at the Warners Hollywood for four weeks. As yet untitled, this next will be a sequel to ‘Pingo Pongo’ ... (June 6, 1938)
Weber Voice for Metro
Dave Weber has been signed by Milt Gross to do voices in 'Captain and Kids' cartoon at Metro. (June 14, 1938)
Weber Ends Tales
Dave Weber has finished recording comedy voices in first of Krazy Kat's Fairy Tales cartoon series at the Mintz [studio]... (July 9, 1938)
This week is a busy one for Danny Webb, signed to appear in Columbia's 'Wreckage' with Jack Holt. Webb is also under contract to Columbia for series of shorts. In addition, Webb, who until recently was known as Dave Weber, has drawn comedy narrator spot for Walter Lantz cartoon, 'Birth of a Toothpick,' for Universal and will also dub in voice of Jimmie Fidler in a 'Looney Toon' short for Leon Schlesinger. (Oct. 20, 1938)
Andy Panda is mute. So are Krazy Kat and Scrappy. Their collective voice, Danny Webb, is making a noise like a soldier for Uncle Sam. (May 16, 1941)
Webb enlisted five days after that last story and rose to the rank of Staff Sergeant. He was soon working on short films at Ft. Monmouth before going overseas.
A story in the March 26, 1939 Brooklyn Daily Eagle states that Webb had been providing voices in animation for three years (“Lionel Barrymore and Herman Bing, Chinaman, Russian and Swede, Oswald the Rabbit, Pete the Pup and Scrappy”). Keith Scott points out his first job at Warners was in the 1936 cartoon “The Coo-Coo Nut Grove.” He also mentions that Webb never appeared in “Pingo Pongo.” The “sequel” is likely “A Day at the Zoo” (which did feature Webb).
Weekly Variety of November 29, 1944 had this cute story of Webb during the war:
Inside Stuff—Radio
Danny Webb, XGI, currently being offered as the radio voice of “Sad Sack,” figured in an unusual incident some months ago in Algiers. Happened when Humphrey Bogart was oversees on an entertainment tour and was unable to make a broadcast skedded for the Army station in Algiers. Rather than drop the program. Major Andre Baruch, in charge of the station, called Webb and had him do his Bogey imitation, using the same script latter was to have read. GI audience took the imitation for the real thing. Prior to induction two years ago, Webb did mimicry act billed “The Man of 100 Voices.” Also did cartoon voices for Columbia and Walt Disney.
Weekly Variety was based in New York City and that’s where ex-G.I. Webb had returned after his medical discharge in October of ‘44. No more animated cartoons for him. Instead, he plunged into radio. He was signed to host the quiz show “Guess Who,” replacing Peter Donald on May 12, 1945. He walked off the show in August when, according to Walter Winchell, his sponsor wouldn’t send a show to a veterans hospital.
Television was slowly expanding in New York. Webb made the jump into TV in August 1947, when what networks there were broadcast only sporadically. Billboard announced he would host a comics show on WABD (DuMont) with an eight-year-old girl co-starring. It aired once. He was at WPIX the following June with “Comics on Parade,” where he would read newspaper comics on the air while the camera showed the panels. Here’s a story from the Eagle of April 3, 1949, the closest thing to a biography on Webb I’ve found. Either the reporter evidently couldn’t distinguish “Bugs Bunny” from “being in a Bugs Bunny cartoon” or Webb was padding his resume.
Video Reader Of Comics Puts Accent on Fan
Danny Webb never says “cop.”' He says “policeman.” For “gorilla” he substitutes “big monkey.” He reads the comics on a television program daily and he doesn't want any scared kids listening to HIS program.
“It’s not necessary,” says Danny. “Make them understand that the comics are just kidding anyhow, all in fun, and they can get a kick out of them without any disturbing after-effects.”
Danny Webb lives at 474 Brooklyn Ave. “with my folks,” who are Mr. and Mrs. Herman Webberman. He signed the first five-year contract for a television show with WPIX, does 15 minutes of comics interpretation every night, beginning at 5.
He's a bachelor, in his mid-thirties, loves kids.
“Always have. All the neighborhood kids are my pals. The little ones come running down the block when they see me coming, yell “Danny, Danny!” Folks who don't know me think they’re saying “Daddy, Daddy!” Embarrassing, a little, but nice.”
Danny Webb, besides interpreting comics, is a bonafide comic himself. He was born at 163 Hewes St., took off from there after a suitable interval in which he acquired sufficient schooling, and has been heard over a period of years by the movie-going public as the voice of “Bugs Bunny” and other cartoon characters. He was with MGM and later Columbia, where he was the voice of “Krazy Kat.”
“That’s not all,” said Danny. “I came back to Brooklyn and started out again, this time on the borscht circuit. I wanted a fling at vaudeville.”
About this time the war came along and Danny went into the army in the Signal Corps.
The Original Sad Sack
“I was the original Sad Sack,” he boasted. “Nothing fitted me.”
He is a short man, can look doleful without effort. He got to Algiers. So, it will be recalled, did General Eisenhower. He found Danny the number one entertainer in those parts, gave him the title “Comedy Commander.” Danny went on from Africa to tell his jokes throughout most of the ETO.
On his television program, Danny has a young assistant, 12-year-old Toby Sommers, another Brooklynite, who lives at 142 S. 9th Street. It’s Toby’s role to be read to on the program, but she gets to do considerable acting herself.
Danny writes his own scripts, does “an Edward G. Robinson impression” if there’s a gangster character, does a Humphrey Bogart impersonation if there are two. “Kids recognize these characters, get a laugh out of something with which they are already familiar in the movies,” said Danny. “A gangster isn’t terrifying, they know everything will come out all right, if he’s talking with a Robinson or a Bogart voice.”
On Sundays Danny has a half-hour show, on which he features guests representing youth organizations, such as Boy Scouts (of which he is an honorary member), PAL, Camp Fire Girls and other groups.
In September 1951, Webb broadcast a 15-minute weekday show called “The Big ‘n’ Little Club Party.” It disappeared on December 21st and, apparently, so did Webb. The only reference I can find to him after that is a squib in Variety of March 13, 1957 wherein it explains the ex-vaudevillian is a production assistant on the show “Wide Wide World.” Ironically, there was a Warner Bros. cartoon spoof of that show called “Wild Wild World” released in 1960. By then, Webb’s career at the studio 20 years earlier was forgotten until dug up years later by animation historians.
The New York Times of September 21, 1983 reported his death and burial took place on September 16th. Just four perfunctory sentences. Nothing about his career. Considering he was a pioneer in many ways, that’s sad. But we’ve been able to rectify it a bit with this post.
If you were a kid who watched Warner Bros. cartoons on TV in the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s, you knew he was the voice of all the characters. The cartoons themselves said so in writing at the beginning. No one else.
A few of those kids grew up to write about the cartoons and pretty soon discovered Mel Blanc wasn’t the only one. They revealed in books there were people named Arthur Q. Bryan and Billy Bletcher and Robert C. Bruce and Stan Freberg and someone you heard on TV cartoons named Daws Butler—and that they were in some of those cartoons, too.
And Danny Webb was another.
Webb was born David Weberman in New York City, apparently on May 24, 1906, the third child of Herman and Lena (Rubin) Weberman. His father, a mere 5-foot-4, emigrated to the U.S. from Budapest in 1887 and was in the fur business as a cutter and a salesman. When Webb arrived in Hollywood, he was using the name Dave Weber. Daily Variety of October 1, 1938 took note of the change in billing:
Danny Webb Set
Danny Webb signed at Columbia for lead in series of 12 short subjects. First of group is 'Behind the Eight Ball.' Webb was formerly known as Dave Webber, voice dubber for animated cartoons.
Radio Daily first takes notice of him in its edition of April 7, 1937:
Dave Weber, who did the radio star impersonations on the Burns & Allen anniversary show [Feb. 17, 1937], has been signed as comic for Superio Macaroni's half hour variety show with Jimmy Tolson, m.c, going into its third week on KFAC. Studio audience sits at sidewalk cafe tables, eats spaghetti.
Variety began reporting on him soon after. Here are the shorties that only deal with his animation work. Not all of these blurbs are complete. The radio show is intriguing.
Weber's Voice Disguises In Mintz's Short
Charles Mintz’ newest Screen Gem cartoon short subject for Columbia, 'Sing Time,' has gone into production with Joe De Nat handling musical direction and Dave Weber doing a series of vocal impersonations of screen celebs. Short is based on the radio community sing idea and Weber impersonates the voices of such air names as Bing Crosby, Rudy Vallee, Eddie Cantor, Andy Devine and others. (July 2, 1937)
Dave Weber Works
Tregg Brown has engaged Dave Weber, radio comic, for voice effects in Leon Schlesinger cartoons. (Oct. 9, 1937)
Dave Weber to Produce Looney Tunes’ Airer
Dave Weber, who is dialect advisor on Metro's The Girl of the Golden West,' has been signed by A. M. (Doc) Howe to co-produce the radio program of Leon Schlesinger's airing of 'Looney Tunes.' Deal was closed yesterday and program is planned to hit the ether early next year. Charles Isaacs is here to write the programs. Howe is dickering with two important radio advertisers as possible sponsors. (Nov. 13, 1937)
Weber Dialogs Cartoons
Dave Weber has been retained by Sam [Charles] Mintz to record dialog for the new series of cartoons now being animated. (Dec. 2, 1937)
Weber Voices Cartoon
Dave Weber, dialect expert and voice characterizer, has just been signed for the second series of Leon Schlesinger Cartoon Travel-Talks. Weber also did the voices in ‘Pingo Pongo,’ which was held at the Warners Hollywood for four weeks. As yet untitled, this next will be a sequel to ‘Pingo Pongo’ ... (June 6, 1938)
Weber Voice for Metro
Dave Weber has been signed by Milt Gross to do voices in 'Captain and Kids' cartoon at Metro. (June 14, 1938)
Weber Ends Tales
Dave Weber has finished recording comedy voices in first of Krazy Kat's Fairy Tales cartoon series at the Mintz [studio]... (July 9, 1938)
This week is a busy one for Danny Webb, signed to appear in Columbia's 'Wreckage' with Jack Holt. Webb is also under contract to Columbia for series of shorts. In addition, Webb, who until recently was known as Dave Weber, has drawn comedy narrator spot for Walter Lantz cartoon, 'Birth of a Toothpick,' for Universal and will also dub in voice of Jimmie Fidler in a 'Looney Toon' short for Leon Schlesinger. (Oct. 20, 1938)
Andy Panda is mute. So are Krazy Kat and Scrappy. Their collective voice, Danny Webb, is making a noise like a soldier for Uncle Sam. (May 16, 1941)
Webb enlisted five days after that last story and rose to the rank of Staff Sergeant. He was soon working on short films at Ft. Monmouth before going overseas.
A story in the March 26, 1939 Brooklyn Daily Eagle states that Webb had been providing voices in animation for three years (“Lionel Barrymore and Herman Bing, Chinaman, Russian and Swede, Oswald the Rabbit, Pete the Pup and Scrappy”). Keith Scott points out his first job at Warners was in the 1936 cartoon “The Coo-Coo Nut Grove.” He also mentions that Webb never appeared in “Pingo Pongo.” The “sequel” is likely “A Day at the Zoo” (which did feature Webb).
Weekly Variety of November 29, 1944 had this cute story of Webb during the war:
Inside Stuff—Radio
Danny Webb, XGI, currently being offered as the radio voice of “Sad Sack,” figured in an unusual incident some months ago in Algiers. Happened when Humphrey Bogart was oversees on an entertainment tour and was unable to make a broadcast skedded for the Army station in Algiers. Rather than drop the program. Major Andre Baruch, in charge of the station, called Webb and had him do his Bogey imitation, using the same script latter was to have read. GI audience took the imitation for the real thing. Prior to induction two years ago, Webb did mimicry act billed “The Man of 100 Voices.” Also did cartoon voices for Columbia and Walt Disney.
Television was slowly expanding in New York. Webb made the jump into TV in August 1947, when what networks there were broadcast only sporadically. Billboard announced he would host a comics show on WABD (DuMont) with an eight-year-old girl co-starring. It aired once. He was at WPIX the following June with “Comics on Parade,” where he would read newspaper comics on the air while the camera showed the panels. Here’s a story from the Eagle of April 3, 1949, the closest thing to a biography on Webb I’ve found. Either the reporter evidently couldn’t distinguish “Bugs Bunny” from “being in a Bugs Bunny cartoon” or Webb was padding his resume.
Video Reader Of Comics Puts Accent on Fan
Danny Webb never says “cop.”' He says “policeman.” For “gorilla” he substitutes “big monkey.” He reads the comics on a television program daily and he doesn't want any scared kids listening to HIS program.
“It’s not necessary,” says Danny. “Make them understand that the comics are just kidding anyhow, all in fun, and they can get a kick out of them without any disturbing after-effects.”
He's a bachelor, in his mid-thirties, loves kids.
“Always have. All the neighborhood kids are my pals. The little ones come running down the block when they see me coming, yell “Danny, Danny!” Folks who don't know me think they’re saying “Daddy, Daddy!” Embarrassing, a little, but nice.”
Danny Webb, besides interpreting comics, is a bonafide comic himself. He was born at 163 Hewes St., took off from there after a suitable interval in which he acquired sufficient schooling, and has been heard over a period of years by the movie-going public as the voice of “Bugs Bunny” and other cartoon characters. He was with MGM and later Columbia, where he was the voice of “Krazy Kat.”
“That’s not all,” said Danny. “I came back to Brooklyn and started out again, this time on the borscht circuit. I wanted a fling at vaudeville.”
About this time the war came along and Danny went into the army in the Signal Corps.
The Original Sad Sack
“I was the original Sad Sack,” he boasted. “Nothing fitted me.”
He is a short man, can look doleful without effort. He got to Algiers. So, it will be recalled, did General Eisenhower. He found Danny the number one entertainer in those parts, gave him the title “Comedy Commander.” Danny went on from Africa to tell his jokes throughout most of the ETO.
On his television program, Danny has a young assistant, 12-year-old Toby Sommers, another Brooklynite, who lives at 142 S. 9th Street. It’s Toby’s role to be read to on the program, but she gets to do considerable acting herself.
Danny writes his own scripts, does “an Edward G. Robinson impression” if there’s a gangster character, does a Humphrey Bogart impersonation if there are two. “Kids recognize these characters, get a laugh out of something with which they are already familiar in the movies,” said Danny. “A gangster isn’t terrifying, they know everything will come out all right, if he’s talking with a Robinson or a Bogart voice.”
On Sundays Danny has a half-hour show, on which he features guests representing youth organizations, such as Boy Scouts (of which he is an honorary member), PAL, Camp Fire Girls and other groups.
In September 1951, Webb broadcast a 15-minute weekday show called “The Big ‘n’ Little Club Party.” It disappeared on December 21st and, apparently, so did Webb. The only reference I can find to him after that is a squib in Variety of March 13, 1957 wherein it explains the ex-vaudevillian is a production assistant on the show “Wide Wide World.” Ironically, there was a Warner Bros. cartoon spoof of that show called “Wild Wild World” released in 1960. By then, Webb’s career at the studio 20 years earlier was forgotten until dug up years later by animation historians.
The New York Times of September 21, 1983 reported his death and burial took place on September 16th. Just four perfunctory sentences. Nothing about his career. Considering he was a pioneer in many ways, that’s sad. But we’ve been able to rectify it a bit with this post.
Friday, 19 September 2014
Fun Fifties Cars
I love the designs in “Destination Earth.” It’s a mid-1950s propaganda cartoon for the oil industry made by the John Sutherland studio. Tom Oreb and Vic Haboush were brought in as designers.
The cars are parodies of the long, huge-finned vehicles that were de rigeur in the auto industry in the second half of the decade. Here are a few of them. The second one has Buick’s portholes and the fifth is based on the M.G., which were becoming popular then.
Part of a shot of a neighbourhood.
And here are more cars with neat character designs. Dig that crazy beatnik, Daddy-O!
Here’s a car at a gas station. A typical American family is inside. Wait! Where’s dad? Probably hard at work at the office after a four-martini lunch.
Look at all those happy, stylised people, thanks to big oil companies. Thanks, Corporate America!
The cars are parodies of the long, huge-finned vehicles that were de rigeur in the auto industry in the second half of the decade. Here are a few of them. The second one has Buick’s portholes and the fifth is based on the M.G., which were becoming popular then.
Part of a shot of a neighbourhood.
And here are more cars with neat character designs. Dig that crazy beatnik, Daddy-O!
Here’s a car at a gas station. A typical American family is inside. Wait! Where’s dad? Probably hard at work at the office after a four-martini lunch.
Look at all those happy, stylised people, thanks to big oil companies. Thanks, Corporate America!
Thursday, 18 September 2014
Minnie the Moocher Cat
“Minnie the Moocher” (1932) is another great Fleischer cartoon, mixing ghosts, skeletons, weird creatures and Cab Calloway’s music.
One little sequence has Calloway’s voice coming out of a spectre cat.
Suddenly spectre kittens pop up behind her and start feeding off her. The mother cat shrinks.
The mother cat hands them a milk bottle with four nipples. They continue to grow but she dies.
Willard Bowsky and Ralph Somerville receive the animation credits
One little sequence has Calloway’s voice coming out of a spectre cat.
Suddenly spectre kittens pop up behind her and start feeding off her. The mother cat shrinks.
The mother cat hands them a milk bottle with four nipples. They continue to grow but she dies.
Willard Bowsky and Ralph Somerville receive the animation credits
Wednesday, 17 September 2014
How to Be Charley Weaver
As a pre-teen watching “Hollywood Squares,” I knew all the regulars except one. Paul Lynde guest starred on sitcoms. Rose Marie was on the “Dick Van Dyke Show.” Wally Cox was the voice of Underdog. And Charley Weaver was...well, who was Charley Weaver?
11-year-old me had no idea that Charley Weaver wasn’t even Charley Weaver. He was always in character and never introduced by his real name that I recall. It was years later I found that Charley Weaver was the last in a long line of old men characters invented by Cliff Arquette which included Ben Willet on “Point Sublime” and Captain Billy on “Glamour Manor” on radio. Charley parked himself on Jack Paar’s late-night couch about 1959 and started raking in fame and cash.
Charley, er, Cliff, was profiled in a column syndicated by the National Enterprise Association on August 13, 1959. Interestingly, Arquette talked of retiring in three years, ie. 1962. Of course, that never happened, as “Hollywood Squares” came along in 1966 and Arquette appeared on the show until his health prohibited it (he died in 1974).
11-year-old me had no idea that Charley Weaver wasn’t even Charley Weaver. He was always in character and never introduced by his real name that I recall. It was years later I found that Charley Weaver was the last in a long line of old men characters invented by Cliff Arquette which included Ben Willet on “Point Sublime” and Captain Billy on “Glamour Manor” on radio. Charley parked himself on Jack Paar’s late-night couch about 1959 and started raking in fame and cash.
Charley, er, Cliff, was profiled in a column syndicated by the National Enterprise Association on August 13, 1959. Interestingly, Arquette talked of retiring in three years, ie. 1962. Of course, that never happened, as “Hollywood Squares” came along in 1966 and Arquette appeared on the show until his health prohibited it (he died in 1974).
Charley Weaver Builds An Empire
By DICK KLEINER
New York (NEA)—In his time, Cliff Arquette has had his ups and downs. But the way things are going, it looks like all ups from here on. He’s in the happy position of having turned down offers to do eight Broadway plays, a handful of movies, some TV situation comedies, a flock of special MC jobs and any number of supermarket openings. He’s said no to everything, for the simple reason that he doesn’t need the work.
“I’ve had some lean years and some good years,” he said. “I had it made a few times, then blew it, mostly on bad investments, But I’ve got a good business manager now. And he keeps telling me, ‘For God’s sake, don’t take any more work, you’ll ruin us.’”
It wasn’t always thus. Arquette, in his pre-Charley Weaver days, started out as a cartoonist. When he was 16 or 17, he “kept bugging” NEA Service, in Cleveland, for a job until the artists themselves hired him to run out for coffee. After a few months of that, they let him do a cartoon panel.
“I got an office,” he says, “which was a broom closet with the brooms still in it. And I did a panel of dot drawings—the kind the kids connect and draw an animal. I wanted to sign it but they wouldn't let me, so I got mad.”
With his cartooning days behind him, he went into show business. Even in those early days, he specialized in acting old men. “I like old men,” he says. “And I was too shy to be myself. At parties, nobody paid attention to me as myself, so I started telling jokes as an old man. It worked. Pretty soon, I was thrown out of the parties.”
Through the years, he’s been on hundreds of radio shows, mostly as an old man. So, when TV started raising its coaxial head, he was ready.
“I decided I needed a character I could grow into,” he says. “So I began working up this old man. I’d spend hours at the Old Men’s Home in Sautelle, Calif. In those days, there were Spanish-American veterans there, and I’d sit around and talk to those cats.
And he discovered the things that make Charley Weaver so well liked, without ever offending anybody. He noticed that most old men never study how they put on their ties—“they just tie it and where it is, that’s where it stays”—or their hats—“as long as it keeps the sun off their heads, it’s O.K.”
He decided not to use any makeup for Charley Weaver. First, he’s allergic to makeup and, second, his own ruddy complexion photographs well. He began making his own wigs—that’s one of his many sidelines—but quit when he hit it big on The Jack Paar Show and suddenly needed five wigs at once.
“They cost $350 apiece,” he says, sadly.
Charley’s clothes cost more than Cliff’s—$250 a suit, mostly because there are few tailors who can turn out the proper Weaver baggy pants. “I tried growing my own mustache,” he says, “but it ruined my love life.”
His first appearance on the Paar show was over the protests of his agent, who figured it wouldn’t do him much good. It didn’t do the agency much good—Arquette dropped him. Actually, Cliff had been retired, but came back out of restlessness. Nowadays, he’s his own agent—“I learned how to say no, and that’s all you need to be an agent.”
He still has retirement on his mind, figuring he’ll have had it in three more years. Consequently, all his present contracts expire in three years. That’s even true of the contract for his upcoming (probably in December) TV show, which he won’t discuss but which, according to rumor, will be a modernized, Weaverized version of “Hobby Lobby.”
Before that, though, he’s planning to drag out some more members of the Weaver family on the Paar show. Already, Charley’s mother has appeared, and Cliff has plans to introduce grandfather—complete with long white beard.
Arquette is now 53, a round-faced, white-haired, blue-eyed pixie with a great love of life and a fondness for both fun and money. He’s found both in Gettysburg, Pa., where he has a museum full of his collection of Civil War uniforms. Gettysburg, of course, is President Eisenhower’s adopted-home and Arquette noticed that, when Ike was there, he came out of church promptly at 10:20 a.m. on Sundays. So Arquette carefully timed his own trip to the church and delights in pulling up, amid squealing crowds, at 10:19.
“And when the President comes out,” he says, “there’s nobody around. One of these days, he’ll say, “Who’s that little fat fellow?”
As for money, Arquette, between his TV, book, records, museum and other enterprises, will never have to worry again. “I call it,” he says, “‘The Charley Weaver Empire’.”
Arquette’s career on the air probably goes back longer than anyone thinks. In 1933, he, Ken Browne and Red Corcoran were “The Three California Nuts” (originally “The Three Public Enemies”), broadcasting a 15-minute Sunday night show on the NBC Red network for Williams Shaving Cream. Weekly Variety of March 7th bluntly opined “The trio’s unfunny.” I doubt many said that about Charley Weaver.
By DICK KLEINER
New York (NEA)—In his time, Cliff Arquette has had his ups and downs. But the way things are going, it looks like all ups from here on. He’s in the happy position of having turned down offers to do eight Broadway plays, a handful of movies, some TV situation comedies, a flock of special MC jobs and any number of supermarket openings. He’s said no to everything, for the simple reason that he doesn’t need the work.
“I’ve had some lean years and some good years,” he said. “I had it made a few times, then blew it, mostly on bad investments, But I’ve got a good business manager now. And he keeps telling me, ‘For God’s sake, don’t take any more work, you’ll ruin us.’”
It wasn’t always thus. Arquette, in his pre-Charley Weaver days, started out as a cartoonist. When he was 16 or 17, he “kept bugging” NEA Service, in Cleveland, for a job until the artists themselves hired him to run out for coffee. After a few months of that, they let him do a cartoon panel.
“I got an office,” he says, “which was a broom closet with the brooms still in it. And I did a panel of dot drawings—the kind the kids connect and draw an animal. I wanted to sign it but they wouldn't let me, so I got mad.”
With his cartooning days behind him, he went into show business. Even in those early days, he specialized in acting old men. “I like old men,” he says. “And I was too shy to be myself. At parties, nobody paid attention to me as myself, so I started telling jokes as an old man. It worked. Pretty soon, I was thrown out of the parties.”
And he discovered the things that make Charley Weaver so well liked, without ever offending anybody. He noticed that most old men never study how they put on their ties—“they just tie it and where it is, that’s where it stays”—or their hats—“as long as it keeps the sun off their heads, it’s O.K.”
He decided not to use any makeup for Charley Weaver. First, he’s allergic to makeup and, second, his own ruddy complexion photographs well. He began making his own wigs—that’s one of his many sidelines—but quit when he hit it big on The Jack Paar Show and suddenly needed five wigs at once.
“They cost $350 apiece,” he says, sadly.
Charley’s clothes cost more than Cliff’s—$250 a suit, mostly because there are few tailors who can turn out the proper Weaver baggy pants. “I tried growing my own mustache,” he says, “but it ruined my love life.”
His first appearance on the Paar show was over the protests of his agent, who figured it wouldn’t do him much good. It didn’t do the agency much good—Arquette dropped him. Actually, Cliff had been retired, but came back out of restlessness. Nowadays, he’s his own agent—“I learned how to say no, and that’s all you need to be an agent.”
He still has retirement on his mind, figuring he’ll have had it in three more years. Consequently, all his present contracts expire in three years. That’s even true of the contract for his upcoming (probably in December) TV show, which he won’t discuss but which, according to rumor, will be a modernized, Weaverized version of “Hobby Lobby.”
Before that, though, he’s planning to drag out some more members of the Weaver family on the Paar show. Already, Charley’s mother has appeared, and Cliff has plans to introduce grandfather—complete with long white beard.
Arquette is now 53, a round-faced, white-haired, blue-eyed pixie with a great love of life and a fondness for both fun and money. He’s found both in Gettysburg, Pa., where he has a museum full of his collection of Civil War uniforms. Gettysburg, of course, is President Eisenhower’s adopted-home and Arquette noticed that, when Ike was there, he came out of church promptly at 10:20 a.m. on Sundays. So Arquette carefully timed his own trip to the church and delights in pulling up, amid squealing crowds, at 10:19.
“And when the President comes out,” he says, “there’s nobody around. One of these days, he’ll say, “Who’s that little fat fellow?”
As for money, Arquette, between his TV, book, records, museum and other enterprises, will never have to worry again. “I call it,” he says, “‘The Charley Weaver Empire’.”
Tuesday, 16 September 2014
Fly Me to the Moon
Sylvester has a string tied to his tooth—then realise Tweety has attached it to a lit rocket in “Bad Ol’ Putty Tat.” There’s one short take, then a bigger one. Here are the anticipation drawings (on twos), then the take.
Ken Champin, Virgil Ross, Gerry Chiniquy and Manny Perez are the animators. Gag by Tedd Pierce.
Ken Champin, Virgil Ross, Gerry Chiniquy and Manny Perez are the animators. Gag by Tedd Pierce.
Will the Real Popeye Please Stand Up
Jack Mercer wasn’t the first voice of Popeye, but he’s the one everyone thinks of. He did it for decades. Here he is with two imposters in a 1974 broadcast of the Garry Moore version of “To Tell The Truth.” Most of you reading this blog probably know which one it is without him opening his mouth. There’s a ground buzz on the audio. Your announcer is Bill Wendell. You can read more about Mercer in this post.
Monday, 15 September 2014
Another Sign of Tex Avery
It doesn’t take long for a sign gag to appear in Tex Avery’s early cartoons at MGM. Here’s an example in “Who Killed Who?” Tex sets up the mystery with some lovely night-time bluish backgrounds by Johnny Johnsen.
And then the camera pans over to a typical Avery sign.
There are no animation credits, but there’s no reason not to be believe Avery’s crew was Spence-Blair-Abrams-Love, with someone else handling effects.
And then the camera pans over to a typical Avery sign.
There are no animation credits, but there’s no reason not to be believe Avery’s crew was Spence-Blair-Abrams-Love, with someone else handling effects.
Sunday, 14 September 2014
Benny in the Third Person
The magazine was aimed at women, so there’s naturally a focus on the happy home life.
What’s a little different about this one is Jack is spoken about in third person, therefore Jack is writing about himself as if he’s another person.
This article was written just before Kenny Baker left the show, therefore there’s no mention of Dennis Day. And Rochester was only a semi-regular at this point and didn’t appear every week.
Speaking of Jack Benny
Your ace comedian lets down his hair (what there is of it) and proves he's as funny with written words as he is on the air (we hope)
By JACK BENNY
I MUST love the spot, because here I am—on it again. The editor of this magazine has just asked me how it feels to be at the top of the radio heap. The little rascal.
Why, that's like asking a man if he still beats his wife. Any way he answers, it's still the eight ball into the side pocket.
In other words, Mr. Smarty Editor, I am going to fool you. How does it feel to be on the top of the heap in radio? I dunno. Ask somebody else. But how does it feel to be Jack Benny? There's a question I can answer—and no one else can.
In the first place, Jack Benny feels just about so big. How big is that? Well, if someone has laughed at his jokes, he is about six foot three inches. If they haven't laughed, he's just three inches. Otherwise, it's always a surprise to him to learn he is five foot ten and a half, and his hair is graying.
I'd say Jack feels very fine in the morning when he wakes up and has breakfast with the wife and kid—yes, that's Mary Livingstone Benny and Joan Naomi Benny—and he likes to whistle when he goes for his two-mile hike. Also, he feels very disgusted when no one believes that he takes that hike, since it is one of the things he really enjoys. When he's working on a picture or on his program, he gets a very shaky feeling in the pit of his stomach and gets so interested in what he's doing that he sometimes forgets to eat—then wonders why his stomach aches. Both the ache and the shaky feeling vanish if an omelet stuffed with creamed chicken is applied internally to his stomach. Incidentally, you can take it from me that Mr. Benny considers that a very fine dish.
After the day's work (if it has gone well), Jack usually has a glad feeling for being able to do that kind of stuff. If the work has gone badly, he feels very low in his mind. He gets a tremendous kick out of talking radio and pictures to practically anyone who will listen.
If he must work after dinner, he raises the devil—but does the work and feels pretty good anyway. If he gets home before eleven at night, he goes up to look at his sleeping youngster, gets bawled out for making a noise, then goes downstairs and tries to get into that book he's been trying to read. Three nights out of four, however, his eyes feel as though they have sand in them, so he trots off to get a couple extra hours of shuteye.
Yep, that's about how Jack Benny feels, I'd say. What's more, he's felt that way ever since he did his first broadcast for columnist Eddie Sullivan seven years ago and all through the three hundred odd shows he's done since then.
In appearance, I'd say that Jack wasn't particularly handsome, except in a quiet, distinguished fashion. You know, sort of the Ronald Colman type. He wears his hair brushed straight back and his teeth brushed in the approved circular motion. What's more, he wears blue, gray, and brown equally well—and I guess that takes care of Phil Harris' remarks about his clothes. He lets his wife select his ties for him because there is nothing else he can do.
I think the most interesting thing about Jack Benny is the way he works. I know it's a surprise to him each week that he gets a show on the air.
When Jack first went on the air, he did long monologues just as he had done on the stage before that. However, he soon ran out of those long monologues, so he added new people to his cast to give his shows freshness. And some of the people have certainly been fresh. It was pretty obvious right away that comedy based upon situation and the character of the cast would be the easiest and most believable comedy.
ONE of Jack's most important activities during preparation of his program is riding herd on his writers, Bill Morrow and Eddie Beloin.
He usually gets together with them each Monday to talk over what he's to do the following Sunday. He meets with them again on Tuesday to try to remember what was said on Monday. On Wednesday, Jack drops into their apartment and discovers that they have gone to Palm Springs.
On Thursday afternoon, there is finally action. Jack gets a telegram from his writers saying, "HAVING A FINE TIME. WISH YOU WERE HERE." You can imagine how that relieves Benny, who has been pretty upset about not having a script. On Friday, Bill and Eddie come back from Palm Springs. And would you believe it? They bring back no material, but the most beautiful sunburn you've ever seen. Benny spends all of Friday afternoon rubbing sunburn lotion into them. As a result, he usually has a pretty good script on Saturday for first rehearsals.
There is one more peculiarity about Jack's method of working, I understand. That is, that he reads the entire script over for the cast before the cast reads it. Strangers have read great importance into this reading, but let me tell a secret. The real reason Jack reads the whole script first is: He wants to have, just once, all those funny lines Kenny and Mary and Phil Harris have.
The real big secret in Jack Benny's life is that he's really very fond of Mary Livingstone. They've just built their little love-nest in Beverly Hills and it certainly is some joint, if I do say so myself. Jack feels that inasmuch as Paramount, keeps propping him up in front of a camera every so often, and his sponsor keeps renting an NBC microphone for him every Sunday, he might as well live out in the land of sunshine.
Of course, the other reason for Jack's decision to stay in California is Joan Naomi Benny. Of course, Mr. Benny is prejudiced, but he will sit on anybody who says Joannie isn't the smartest little trick that ever dumped her spinach off the high chair. Oh, I'd better explain this for Jack while I'm at it. Although Mary has been Mrs. Benny for eleven years, she and Jack ignore that in front of the microphone because they feel it gives a broader comedy angle to be single.
After all, Mary couldn't talk about her dates with Clark Gable . . . and Mr. Benny couldn't talk about Dolores Del Schmoots ... if they also talked about being married to each other.
Well, that's Jack Benny, folks.
Your ace comedian lets down his hair (what there is of it) and proves he's as funny with written words as he is on the air (we hope)
By JACK BENNY
I MUST love the spot, because here I am—on it again. The editor of this magazine has just asked me how it feels to be at the top of the radio heap. The little rascal.
Why, that's like asking a man if he still beats his wife. Any way he answers, it's still the eight ball into the side pocket.
In other words, Mr. Smarty Editor, I am going to fool you. How does it feel to be on the top of the heap in radio? I dunno. Ask somebody else. But how does it feel to be Jack Benny? There's a question I can answer—and no one else can.
In the first place, Jack Benny feels just about so big. How big is that? Well, if someone has laughed at his jokes, he is about six foot three inches. If they haven't laughed, he's just three inches. Otherwise, it's always a surprise to him to learn he is five foot ten and a half, and his hair is graying.
I'd say Jack feels very fine in the morning when he wakes up and has breakfast with the wife and kid—yes, that's Mary Livingstone Benny and Joan Naomi Benny—and he likes to whistle when he goes for his two-mile hike. Also, he feels very disgusted when no one believes that he takes that hike, since it is one of the things he really enjoys. When he's working on a picture or on his program, he gets a very shaky feeling in the pit of his stomach and gets so interested in what he's doing that he sometimes forgets to eat—then wonders why his stomach aches. Both the ache and the shaky feeling vanish if an omelet stuffed with creamed chicken is applied internally to his stomach. Incidentally, you can take it from me that Mr. Benny considers that a very fine dish.
After the day's work (if it has gone well), Jack usually has a glad feeling for being able to do that kind of stuff. If the work has gone badly, he feels very low in his mind. He gets a tremendous kick out of talking radio and pictures to practically anyone who will listen.
If he must work after dinner, he raises the devil—but does the work and feels pretty good anyway. If he gets home before eleven at night, he goes up to look at his sleeping youngster, gets bawled out for making a noise, then goes downstairs and tries to get into that book he's been trying to read. Three nights out of four, however, his eyes feel as though they have sand in them, so he trots off to get a couple extra hours of shuteye.
Yep, that's about how Jack Benny feels, I'd say. What's more, he's felt that way ever since he did his first broadcast for columnist Eddie Sullivan seven years ago and all through the three hundred odd shows he's done since then.
In appearance, I'd say that Jack wasn't particularly handsome, except in a quiet, distinguished fashion. You know, sort of the Ronald Colman type. He wears his hair brushed straight back and his teeth brushed in the approved circular motion. What's more, he wears blue, gray, and brown equally well—and I guess that takes care of Phil Harris' remarks about his clothes. He lets his wife select his ties for him because there is nothing else he can do.
I think the most interesting thing about Jack Benny is the way he works. I know it's a surprise to him each week that he gets a show on the air.
When Jack first went on the air, he did long monologues just as he had done on the stage before that. However, he soon ran out of those long monologues, so he added new people to his cast to give his shows freshness. And some of the people have certainly been fresh. It was pretty obvious right away that comedy based upon situation and the character of the cast would be the easiest and most believable comedy.
ONE of Jack's most important activities during preparation of his program is riding herd on his writers, Bill Morrow and Eddie Beloin.
He usually gets together with them each Monday to talk over what he's to do the following Sunday. He meets with them again on Tuesday to try to remember what was said on Monday. On Wednesday, Jack drops into their apartment and discovers that they have gone to Palm Springs.
On Thursday afternoon, there is finally action. Jack gets a telegram from his writers saying, "HAVING A FINE TIME. WISH YOU WERE HERE." You can imagine how that relieves Benny, who has been pretty upset about not having a script. On Friday, Bill and Eddie come back from Palm Springs. And would you believe it? They bring back no material, but the most beautiful sunburn you've ever seen. Benny spends all of Friday afternoon rubbing sunburn lotion into them. As a result, he usually has a pretty good script on Saturday for first rehearsals.
There is one more peculiarity about Jack's method of working, I understand. That is, that he reads the entire script over for the cast before the cast reads it. Strangers have read great importance into this reading, but let me tell a secret. The real reason Jack reads the whole script first is: He wants to have, just once, all those funny lines Kenny and Mary and Phil Harris have.
The real big secret in Jack Benny's life is that he's really very fond of Mary Livingstone. They've just built their little love-nest in Beverly Hills and it certainly is some joint, if I do say so myself. Jack feels that inasmuch as Paramount, keeps propping him up in front of a camera every so often, and his sponsor keeps renting an NBC microphone for him every Sunday, he might as well live out in the land of sunshine.
Of course, the other reason for Jack's decision to stay in California is Joan Naomi Benny. Of course, Mr. Benny is prejudiced, but he will sit on anybody who says Joannie isn't the smartest little trick that ever dumped her spinach off the high chair. Oh, I'd better explain this for Jack while I'm at it. Although Mary has been Mrs. Benny for eleven years, she and Jack ignore that in front of the microphone because they feel it gives a broader comedy angle to be single.
After all, Mary couldn't talk about her dates with Clark Gable . . . and Mr. Benny couldn't talk about Dolores Del Schmoots ... if they also talked about being married to each other.
Well, that's Jack Benny, folks.
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