Dad Gum Television

The cattle rancher chases sheepherder Droopy into a saloon and urges the men inside to “shoot him down.”



Four consecutive frames.



The wolf hears gunfire. He peers inside the saloon.



A long pan from right to left.



“Dad gum television,” complains the wolf.



There are great scenes aplenty in Drag-a-long Droopy (released 1954), with Tex Avery himself playing the wolf (Bill Thompson is Droopy). Ray Patterson, Bob Bentley, Mike Lah, Grant Simmons and Walt Clinton are the animators.

Fiddling With Farewell

The calendar changed to 1973 and even though Jack Benny was about to turn 79, he kept right on going.

You couldn’t blame him if he wanted to quit, considering his age and his very comfortable financial situation. But it just wasn’t in him. However, he did tell the entertainment columnist for the Newspaper Enterprise Association that would like to slow down a bit. “Slowing down” really only happened the following year when he became too ill to perform and then pancreatic cancer quickly claimed him.

This column is, more or less, a plug for a TV special, but columnist Kleiner put a few other questions to him as well, including broaching the idea of just staying at home and relaxing. It first appeared in papers on January 5, 1973.

He Fiddles with Retirement
By DICK KLEINER
HOLLYWOOD —(NEA) — For the first time since I've known him the word "retirement" didn't make Jack Benny grimace.
Like most veteran performers — and remember that Benny is pushing 40—he's scoffed at retiring. But this time, when the subject came up, he scoffed not.
"I don't think I'll ever retire fully," he said. I'll always do concerts. I love them because they involve the two things I love the most, talking and playing the violin — but I am trying to cut down.
"I want to take it a little easier from now on. But it isn't easy to take things easy. You get involved."
He pulled out his schedule and showed how involved a star can get. There was a long list of appearances but most of them were benefits. He says if you say yes to one, it's hard to say no to some other.

He says the whole list of his dates includes only a couple that mean any money coming in. One of these is his NBC show. Jack Benny's First Farewell Special, coming on Jan. 18, with RCA picking up the whole tab.
"I have to do a TV shot or a special once in awhile," Jack says, "to prove to the nation at large that I'm still living."
He says if he does a benefit in Philadelphia or plays Las Vegas for a few weeks, the people in Philadelphia and Las Vegas know about it. but nobody else does.
"You have to have some national exposure." he says, "or else the whole country thinks you're either dead or retired."
He has a contract for another NBC special, which will probably be called Jack Benny's Second Farewell Special, and is tentatively slated for spring.
He says he thinks his first farewell special is good but he stresses the word "thinks." He says he'd be surprised if it wasn't good but adds that a performer can never really be sure about these things.
"We generally do pretty well if we start out with a good idea," he says.
And he thinks this farewell idea is a pretty good one. His manager, Irving Fein, thought it up, although Benny says it goes back in the dusty history of show business to such greats as Sarah Bernhardt and Sir Harry Lauder.
"I worked with some good writers on it," he says. "And, actually, I've always thought that I was a much better editor than I was a comedian. You know you can be a good comedian but if you're not a good editor you're in trouble.
"We've spent hours already editing my special and we're not through yet. Editing is a very important part of the business."
He says he may come up with an idea. He bounces it off his writers. Maybe six on a special. He says he won't use his idea, no matter how great he thinks it is, unless four of the six agree.
Benny says this may be one of the reasons many young comedians trip on their way up the ladder. They come to have too much faith in their own ideas and disregard the cautioning words of others.
But he says there are some young comics he enjoys. He singles out Flip Wilson — "but he's been in the business a long time, don't forget"—and Bob Newhart.
"You have to give a lot of credit to any young comedian today," he says. "They didn't have the schooling my generation had. We had a chance to be bad, before we were good."

Max Fleischer in Vaudeville and Receivership

Max Fleischer could have been a vaudeville star. At least according to one trade magazine.

In the mid-1920s, Fleischer made periodic appearances on radio. And, for reasons unknown today, he made one appearance on the vaudeville stage.

Unlike Winsor McCay, he didn’t interact with one of his animated creatures, like he did in his one-reel cartoons. In fact, the whole thing seems pretty off-the-cuff, judging by the description in The Billboard of May 8, 1926. (“In One” means Fleischer appeared on stage in front of the curtain).

MAX FLEISCHER
Reviewed Thursday evening, April 29, at the Premier Theater, Brooklyn, N.Y. Style—Monolog and dancing. Setting—In one. Time—Ten minutes.
Max Fleischer, the cartoonist, who achieved fame thru his Out of the Inkwell one-reel animated pictures and his clown, Ko-Ko, made a special appearance at this theater for one day only. He characterized himself in his talk as “one of the neighbors,” asserting that he had been born and reared in the vicinity of the theater and proved his assertion by naming schools, teachers and places in the neighborhood which were readily recognized by many in the audience. Hence, his appearance was in the nature of paying homage to a local celebrity.
In addition to the interest occasioned by the “personal appearance” of any character of wide reputation, especially if he be connected with the stage or movies, the act, if it may be so termed, was worth while on other counts. Fleischer recounted how he conceived the idea of making animated movies that wouldn’t be so crude and jumpy as the old ones, how he worked out the idea with his brother, Dave, and how it was finally perfected until it reached the stage where he could turn the film cartoons out weekly—his first one, by his own admission, took him more than a year to complete.
Since vaudeville audiences are well acquainted with these one-reel comedies, it is but natural that their curiosity should be piqued as to how they were made. The audience, this evening, gave every indication of being much interested, for they listened intently and responded enthusiastically. Fleischer’s intimate way of talking, his droll sense of humor and his personality, in addition to the “homey” aspect of the offering, helped put it over.
If the cartoonist found the time, and also the inclination, he could easily work up an act that would get over nicely in metropolitan vaudeville. His daughter, Florence, a pretty and vivacious girl in the midst of her teens, with an unbobbed head of red curls, could help daddy out very well in such an act. At the end of his talk, he introduced her to the patrons and she did as hectic and expert a Charleston as any professional could do. It might not be a bad idea to dress her in the Pierrot makeup that Ko-Ko prances about it and put her on after a short film in which the clown does his stuff. With his explanatory talk, and the working up of a routine that would include some sketching to illustrate that talk, a short film and the closing Charleston by Florence, Fleischer could put on an act that would be a worth-while novelty. P.H.

This, and the reception his Koko cartoons received from audiences, may be the only positive things that Fleischer received in 1926. He was beset with problems elsewhere.

Actually, he had troubles the previous year when he took four ex-employees to court. You should recognise the names. Ben Harrison and Manny Gould went to work for Charles Mintz producing Krazy Kat cartoons, first silent, then in sound. Burt Gillett became a top director for Disney before chucking it all in 1934 to move back to New York to run the Van Beuren studio. And Edith Vernick returned to work for Fleischer and eventually became head of the in-between department.

This is from Billboard, September 12, 1925.

Max Fleischer Charges Employees With Piracy
Brings Suit To Restrain Four From Using His Process

New York, Sept. 7—Max Fleischer, originator of the Out of the Inkwell cartoons, has brought suit in the New York Supreme Court asking a restraining injunction against four former employees who, he alleges, have stolen ideas which he invented and are using them for commercial purposes.
The defendants named are Burton Gillette, Emanuel Goldman, Benjamin Harrison and Edith Vernick.
Fleischer alleges in his affidavits that two of the processes used in the Out of the Inkwell series have been used by the quarter above named. These are what he called the “cut-out” system and the “reverse color and action system.” Altho animated sketches are used by a number of cartoonists in motion pictures, Fleischer uses one which seems to be unique. This is the introduction of a live character in his pen and ink sketches, and it is probably this method that he seeks to protect.
The cartoons have to do with a clown who comes out of his inkwell, and who, at the conclusion of the picture, dives back whence he came. Into the actions of this clown Fleischer introduces himself, lifesize, a trick which he claims has been heretofore unknown and which is original with him. While many guesses have been hazarded as to the method employed in drawing these cartoons, Fleischer alleges that until recently no one knew of the actual process except himself and the four defendants.
In the complaint Fleischer alleges that he is president of the Out of the Inkwell Company, Inc., and that he employed the four defendants to work in his plant, imparting to them, of necessity, the method of drawing the cartoons and training them in its use. Shortly afterward, he alleges, the four left him and organized for themselves the A.A. Studios, Inc., for the purpose of operating them with the same processes as those used by Fleischer, making use of the knowledge they gained while with him. This, he avers, they are continuing to do.
Fleischer is represented by Finklestein & Welling, No. 36 West 44th street, New York.

Fleischer’s big problems, though, involved his Red Seal Pictures Corporation, formed in September 1923, which distributed not only the Fleischer cartoons, but a number of independent shorts and features, including the “Animated Hair” sketch cartoons made by former Life cartoonist Marcus.

On the surface, everything seemed fine. The trade papers announced company president Edwin Miles Fadman had left and Fleischer had taken over. Motion Picture World on January 30, 1926 put together a page worth of free publicity.

Max Fleischer, Creator of “Ko-Ko,” Elected Head of Red Seal Pictures
Ardent Supporter of “Laugh Month” Will Continue His Unique Work at the Inkwell Teaching His Clown New Tricks
By JOHN PYCROFT SMITH
MAX FLEISCHER, recently elected president of Red Seal Pictures Corporation, and known throughout the world wherever Ko-Ko, the Clown, star of the Out-of-the- Inkwell Cartoon series and the Ko-Ko Song Car- Tunes, is known, will stick to his inkwell.
The business of being president of a national distributing organization sets lightly on the shoulders of this creator of fun pictures.
Mr. Fleischer recently decided to take a personal interest in the distribution of his films in order to get direct reaction from the exhibitor so that he might properly gauge the product which he produces. With the recent organization of Red Seal, Mr. Fleischer stepped into the presidency. And — he will go right on putting Ko-Ko through his stunts!
"Do you know," Mr. Fleischer asked, "that a lot of people have got me sized up as some kind of a grouch? It sounds funny, doesn't it? I suppose the folks think along the line that a chap who throws out these cartoons must be an awful tough nut to crack. The fact is, I've successfully managed to laugh myself half way through life, trying all the time to keep the other fellow from bursting into tears, and when I deliberately set out to try to be serious, very few people take me seriously. Every laugh month is laugh month to me, and I hope some of the folks who have been looking at my humble contributions to the screen during these recent years have managed to get an occasional smile out of the antics of Ko-Ko. I'd hate like the deuce to feel that all of those hours, crouched against my inkwell, have been wasted on my public. The showmen tell 'em that everything is all right — and I like to think so.
"Laugh Month" Will Do World of Good
"I've been going around for years with a chip on my shoulder telling everybody that 'Laugh Month' will do a world of good along the lines of bringing to exhibitors a better understanding of what it's all about. I never found it difficult to convince an exhibitor that his show should be brightened up by various bits of humor. I'm the strongest booster (or I hope 1 am) of the other fellow's funny stuff. I was a laugh fan before I took a keen interest in production, and I see no reason why I should rent a safe deposit box to store away one iota of my optimism.
"I may not be funny, but my daughter thinks I'm a scream."
* * *

"Max" was little more than a boy when he joined the staff of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle as a cartoonist. Popular Science Monthly made him its art editor shortly thereafter and it was while with this publication that he applied himself to scientific subjects. Mr. Fleischer's knowledge of science stood him in good stead in recent years when editing such profound films as "Einstein's Theory of Evolution," in collaborating with Prof. Garrett P. Serviss, the noted astronomer, and "Evolution," edited in collaboration with Edward J. Foyes.
Began Production Eight Years Ago
Mr. Fleischer entered the motion picture field eight years ago, associating himself with his brother David, now production director of the Out-of-the-Inkwell Studios.
The product of these studios is protected by various patents, and President Fleischer is constantly experimenting to elaborate upon the several processes which he now controls.
During recent years, the demand upon Mr. Fleischer's time has extended to include his repeated appearance in a number of leading radio broadcasting station in Eastern cities.
Cartoonist Talks on The Radio
"Ko-Ko's boss" has talked to millions of listeners, and has regaled them with chats regarding his clown, these chats being almost as funny as the cartoons. Recently, at WIP Station, Philadelphia, Mr. Fleischer promised his listeners that if they would send their names to him in his office in number 729 Seventh avenue, New York City, he would send them a Ko-Ko card. Max graciously promised to print in the names of those who wrote to him. The following day he received 1,082 requests. He was dizzy when the day's work was done! Next morning, on reaching his office he was confronted with 8,391 additional names, and was obliged to hire a couple of experts to properly letter the cards to be mailed out. The third day 15,427 urgent requests for Ko-Ko cards arrived! And now, when Max talks over the radio, he soft-pedals all reference to "personally lettered Ko-Ko cards!"
The creator of Ko-Ko "sat in" on the first conference of the series that resulted in the designation of January, 1926, as "National Laugh Month" and his Ko-Ko cartoons are included among the most amusing features of "Laugh Month."

But soon it was revealed why Fleischer had taken over as president. There were accusations of unauthorised spending by just about everyone. The company had a cash flow problem on top of that.

Here are some clippings. First, from Variety of April 14, 1926.

Fadman Sued by Seal

Edwin Miles Fadman, former president and general manager of Red Seal Pictures, Corp., is being sued in two separate Supreme Court actions by the film company for $3,377.89 and $3,186.54 respectively. The Red Seal Co., now headed by Max Fleischer, the cartoonist-creator of Koko the Clown, alleges that Fadman drew the $3,377 in excess of his just allowance on a 50-50 percentage arrangement for the releasing of a certain “hair cartoon.”
The $3,186 claim arises from an alleged illegal diversion from the company’s proceeds.

A week later, Variety reported again.

Red Seal Stockholders’ Action in Court
A stockholders’ suit has been instituted in the Supreme Court of New York against the Red Seal Pictures Corporation, of which Max Fleischer is president. Edwin Miles Fadman, until recently president of the film, is one of the stockholders bringing suit. Fleischer, Maurice Finkelstein, lawyer, and Abe Meyer, secretary of Hugo Reisenfeld, are the three defendant directors charged with dissipating the assets of the corporation.
Among the specific items alleged in the complaints are payments of extra salaries of $75 weekly to Hugo Reisenfeld, $100 weekly to Fleischer and $100 weekly to Fred Greene, Jr., brother-in-law of Dr. Reisenfeld. Fadman alleges that when he resigned the presidency these payments were authorized by the new controlling board headed by Fleischer. Fadman contended that the disbursal of this money weakened the net asset position of the company.

Meanwhile, there was an unrelated lawsuit. Film Daily of July 1, 1926 had the following briefie, and a vague one at that:

Suit over "Carrie" Series
Irwin R. Franklyn has filed a suit against Inkwell Studios, Max Fleischer, Red Seal Pictures and others to restrain the production, exhibition and distrubution of the "Carrie of the Chorus" series. Max Fleischer, for Red Seal, denies all charges.

Evidently, the two sides settled their differences. The trade papers reported in September than the Carrie shorts were ready to for theatres.



Despite endless puff pieces talking about the desirability and growing distribution of Red Seal’s products, the company collapsed. Variety, October 13, 1926.

Red Seal Owes $109,000; Receiver Asked For
Max Fleischer’s Out-of-the-Inkwell Films, Inc., and the Red Seal Pictures Corp., subsidiary unit, are involved in Federal Court receivership proceedings. The appointment of a receiver in each case has been urged by Fleischer on behalf of his defendant corporations.
Spiro Films Corp. (formerly Urban-Kineto Corp.) brought the first suit, claiming $4,800 due on a $9,963.13 claim for licensing “Reel-views and Searchlights” to Out-of-the-Inkwell Co.
The defendant is alleged to have $109,737.77 in liabilities, the principal claims being $44,000 by the Consolidated Film Industries, Inc.; $28,643.75 due the banks, $3,000 to Maurice Finkelstein or Finkelstein & Willing, Fleischer’s lawyer; $2,249.99 due Hugo Reisenfeld; $3,400 to Fleischer and another item for $4,049.81 for salary; ditto to Dave Fleischer for $4,351.91.
The assets are said to total $310,613.23 of which $168,175 is in the form of Red Seal Corp. stock; another $68,616 advanced to the same corporation; $27,301 in completed films and $523.56 in cash.
The purpose of the receivership, with B. Bright Wilson appointed the receiver, is to seek the release of sundry films being held by the Consolidated Film Industries, Inc., a raw film enterprise, for unpaid claims.
In the Red Seal Corp. receivership Receiver Wilson sued the company in order to make possible a collection of claims.

While all this was going on, someone swooped in with cash and took control of things. This is from The Billboard, November 27, 1926.

Expansion Program Planned For Red Seal and Inkwell

NEW YORK, Nov. 20—An immediate expansion plan will be put under way by Alfred Weiss, new president of Red Seal Pictures and Out-of-the-Inkwell Films. Reorganization of the two companies was completed recently, with Weiss in control, following dismissal of the receivership claims against them. Weiss paid $218,000 of the liabilities and furnished working capital on which the companies will continue to operate. Red Seal now has 21 exchanges thruout the country. Max Fleischer is vice-president of both corporates, placing him in charge of production.
Weiss is a pioneer motion picture man, having been one of the originators of the old Triangle Film Corporation.

Legal troubles didn’t end. The Film Mercury, a Hollywood-based trade publication, reported in December 1926 that music publishers Waterson, Berlin and Snyder were suing Red Seal and Out if the Inkwell Film Corp. for using “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” in one of its cartoons.

Fleischer’s troubles still weren’t over. Weiss jettisoned both Max and Dave Fleischer in January 1929. The Fleischers set up their own company and somehow managed to take the Paramount contract with them, making Screen Songs and then Talkartoons for the the giant studio. Apparently, Weiss’ company wasn’t really functioning any more. It formally filed for bankruptcy on January 15, 1930 after Dave Fleischer won a $27,800 breach-of-contract judgment against Weiss, with a similar suit by Max pending and a third suit claiming Weiss siphoned off company money for his own benefit.

Weiss moved on to other things, including a movie sound system, before dying in 1940. The Fleischers moved ahead to create some excellent cartoons before everything caved in on them in 1942 and Paramount took over their studio. Despite all the turmoil, Max Fleischer’s name is still respected by animation fans today. The vaudeville he tried for a day is long gone.

Seeing the Hick Chick

The bad guy enters in a mile-long limo in The Hick Chick (released June 15, 1946). You can tell he’s the bad guy because the flashing sign on his car says so.



He sees Daisy Goon.



A typical Tex Avery reaction.



He becomes so excited, his moustache disappears in one of the drawings.



Walt Clinton, Ed Love, Preston Blair and Ray Abrams are the credited animators, with backgrounds by Johnny Johnsen.

Boxoffice magazine reported on July 5, 1946 that the Library of Congress had requested a print of the cartoon for preservation along with The Zoot Cat and The Milky Waif.

Juggler Of Our Lady

Gene Deitch and Al Kouzel put R.O. Blechman’s adaptation of The Juggler of Our Lady on the big screen in 1958.

The opening animation has two knights fighting each other with swords. They chop each other’s swords down to nothing. Suddenly, maces pop into their hands and they start using those until interrupted by the little juggler and the title of the cartoon.



I suppose the little characters might have been easier to see on the Cinemascope screen.

Motion Picture Daily reported on December 6, 1957 that the film would be pre-released for the Christmas holidays in 170 “key” cities by 20th Century Fox. It was formally released in April 1958 just before Deitch was unceremoniously shown the door at Terrytoons.

CBS may not have been crazy about Deitch in some quarters, but the company seems to have liked this film. It was not only reissued in March 1963, the company worked out a deal with Carousel Films in 1961 to distribute it in the non-theatrical, 16-mm market (schools, government agencies, libraries, etc.) for $50 a rental.

Mama Bea

Stardom finally greeted Bea Benaderet in 1963 when Petticoat Junction went on the air, after years and years of supporting roles on radio and television. Unfortunately, she didn’t enjoy it for long. She was dead of cancer in five years.

Benaderet was born 112 years ago today. Her family moved to San Francisco where she began her radio career as a singer in the mid-1920s. She moved to Los Angeles and eventually had regular roles on a number of network shows—The Great Gildersleeve, My Favorite Husband with Lucille Ball and especially on The Burns and Allen Show. It was with Burns and Allen she went to television and there was never a season she didn’t have a regular TV role until her death.

The Philadelphia Inquirer of May 10, 1964 published this feature piece with Benaderet. If you want to read more about her, go to THIS POST on the Yowp blog.

Bea Benaderet—Mama of the Year
By HARRY HARRIS
Of The Inquirer Staff
HAPPY Mother's Day to the successful new mama of the current television season!
That would be Bea Benaderet, who as widow Kate Bradley in CBS' Top Ten "Petticoat Junction," Tuesdays at 9 P. M. on Channel 10, has three beauteous teen-age daughters: blond Jeannine Riley, brunette Pat Woodell and redhead Linda Kaye (As Betty Rubble in ABC's "The Flintstones" responsible for the character's voice and, by example, batting eyelashes she also has a cartoon kid: Bam-Bam.)
Miss Benaderet, alias Mrs. Gene Twombley (her husband since 1957 is a sound-effects engineer), has two real children by an earlier marriage to actor-announcer, ex-"Red Ryder" James Bannon: Jack, 23, and Maggie, 16.
She's a TV mother now because she failed to become a TV grandmother last season. She had her heart set on the "Granny" role in "The Beverly Hillbillies," which went to Irene Ryan instead, but wound up in the same Nielsen-pacing show as Aunt Pearl.
Earlier, TV audiences saw her as Wilma, the housekeeper, in the "Peter Loves Mary" series and, earlier still for eight years as Blanche Morton, the neighbor, in "The Burns and Allen Show," where her successive spouses were Hal March, John Brown, Fred Clark and Larry Keating.
A professional performer at 12, and for quite a spell one of radio's busiest dialecticians (she played continuing roles in numerous comedy shows), Bea now gets top billing for the first time in a long career—"Shall we say 30 years?"
"I'm glad to be a star," she tells interviewers, "but I don't feel like one."
One frequent concomitant of TV situation comedy stardom is the use of one's own Christian name onscreen. Thus, Lucille Ball plays a Lucy; Danny Thomas, a Danny, etc.
"We kicked around the idea of using 'Bea,'" the brown-eyed blonde (via black and gray) told us, "but I didn't think it would be appropriate. If the character were closer to me, yes, but she's entirely different.

"She's like I am in that she's sort of middle-aged and not unattractive, a hard worker, a provider, with a sense of humor but not otherwise. I could more suitably have been a 'Bea' on The Burns and Allen Show.'"
Her name is her own, despite repeated efforts to get her to change it.
"When I was doing radio, many years ago, on a San Francisco station, they'd say, 'Anything's better than Benaderet—How about Smith?' But now it's a little late, don't you think? The boat has sailed.
"People don't seem to be able to remember there's only one A. It's Benaderet, not Ben-AdA-ret. It was misspelled on the Burns and Allen show—in big letters!—for years and years.
"In the seventh year, they wanted to correct it, but I said, 'Don't—not now!’
"It's misspelled where I park my car at the studio, and it's misspelled on my checks. Benny Rubin used to call me 'Benny de Rat.' Usually I'm just 'Bea' or 'Beazie.' "
She's enjoying other attributes of stardom, however—greater recognition, higher income, a posh dressing room, more tender working conditions.
"Last year, when they threw Cousin Pearl into the water for a 'Beverly Hillbillies' scene," she remembers, "the water was ice cold. When they threw a cat in—that crazy, skinny Rhubarb—a crew kid yelled, 'Hey, Bea, see, we heated the tank for the cat!'
" 'Sure,' I said. 'Cats have a better union!'
"Don't misunderstand," she adds quickly. "I have no desire to act like a star. I don't think I'm all-important. An actor is only as good as what he gives and gets back.
"I've kept busy because I'm lucky and because people have trusted me to give a role a different flavor. I think I've done that.
"But a show is more than one person, and there are lot of reasons "Petticoat Junction" is so well liked: Paul Henning (the show's producer, who also created "The Beverly Hillbillies"), my 'daughters,' fine actors like Edgar Buchanan, Smiley Burnette and Rufe Davis..."
She hasn't always played comedy.
"I started as a dramatic actress," she says. "Well, as a singer, actually; then as a dramatic actress, at a little theater in San Francisco. (New York City-born Bea moved there when she was 4.)
"For a while I did radio dramas with Orson Welles from Hollywood, both comic and serious. I recall when they were casting 'Algiers.' I had an audition appointment with John Houseman, who was with Welles at the time, and I went to his office, prepared to read.
"We talked for 30 or 40 minutes, and then he said, "Rehearsal is at 9 A. M. Monday.' I thought I'd be a super, an ad libber, but it was a leading role. 'I don't understand,' I said. 'Wouldn't you like me to read?' No,' he said, you’ll be fine.' And you know something? I was fine.
"I worked with Welles from then on. We used to do two shows one for the East Coast, one for the West Coast First we'd do the script as it was, then Mr. Welles would sit down and frantically cross out five minutes of dialog, after he'd heard how it 'played.'
"I've done a few dramatic shows on television—a 'Line-Up,' a 'Restless Gun' but not many people will take a chance. They're afraid of laughs.
"I have no desire to change from comedy, I'm very happy in this field, but every actor yearns for variety. It's like a form of exercise. The acting muscles get a little numb."

She credits George Burns and Gracie Allen with providing the greatest impetus to her career.
"I was staff, in San Francisco, and used to do 14, 15 shows a week. They came to town for a personal appearance and did a broadcast I worked with them.
"Several years elapsed. I went to Los Angeles and almost immediately I went to work for Burns and Allen, for Jack Benny, Eddie Cantor, Lux Theater'. . .
"I was with George and Gracie, on radio and TV, for 20 years. George is one of the top craftsmen in this business, always businesslike, but always a joy to work with.
"Their television shows were rehearsed one day and shot on another. There was no time for tomfoolery. . .Nobody stands over you with a bullwhip, but this is a fast business.
"The Burns and Allen television show started in New York. For two years it was 'live,' and then they started doing some shows on film at the same time it would be live one week, film the next.
"In live TV, it's do-or-die. In film, if you make a mistake, you know you can shoot it over. When we started using film, I got a little lazy about memorizing. "Then, when we had a live show, I found the words weren't coming as easily. So I started putting notes all around.
One day I planted some on a fireplace behind a vase, but so did the others. I had a line about four-minute eggs that was supposed to lead into a twisted-word thing for Gracie, but all I could see was George's 'What did the doctor say?'
"We never did find the egg line!"
Does she ever long for the good old days of radio when she kept shifting gears between telephone operator Gertrude Gearshift on "The Jack Benny Show" and Mama (a much earlier mama!) on "Meet Millie"?
"Television has never been a problem to me," she says. "I happen to be a good study, fairly intelligent and able to take direction, and I find television very exciting.
"Lake all actors, I didn't realize how lucky we were. It's not that I enjoyed radio more than I do TV, but it would have been so much simpler if television had come first. Now we could have relaxed!"

Pleased to Meet Cha Backgrounds

The rundown city scenes are my favourite Fleischer backgrounds but the other muted settings are enjoyable to look at, too.

Here’s the opening shot from the Popeye cartoon Pleased to Meet Cha! (1935). The music opening the short is “Love is Just Around the Corner.”



Olive’s living room, followed by one of a couple of overhead shots in the cartoon. The soundtrack plays another song from a Paramount feature, “Love Thy Neighbor.”



Fleischer homes have fish mounted on walls.



An angular perspective of the living room. Who did layouts on these cartoons, anyway?



Lamp posts in Fleischer cartoons always seem to sag. I also like how the little store is across the thinnest street in the world from Olive’s house.



The opening credits include the ship’s doors revealing the titles and the fight scene has Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes Forever,” which usually mean a good cartoon. This one isn’t the strongest, though. And someone will have to explain why Olive is worth fighting over.

Willard Bowsky and Hal Walker are the credited animators.

Deduce, You Say Background

Maurice Noble and Phil De Guard are at it again in Deduce, You Say, a 1956 Warners cartoon from the Chuck Jones unit. This is panned left to right. You can click on it to make it bigger.



Oh, and while while we’re talking about De Guard...

This is from the Los Angeles Public Library collection. Photograph caption dated March 10, 1954 reads, "Philip De Guard, North Hollywood artist, shows his version of desert meeting between George Adamski, lecturer-author, and flying saucerman from Venus. Scout ship hovers over meeting place as mother ship soars in distance. In foreground is silhouette of six witnesses." Doesn’t quite look like his work on Duck Dodgers does it?

Grandfather at 39

Jack Benny was a devoted father, according to someone who ought to know—his daughter Joan. And her book about her dad reveals he was a devoted grandfather, too.

If a gossip magazine is to be believed, there was a bit of a story behind the birth of Jack’s first grandson. The December 1955 issue of TV Radio Mirror contains a feature story about the first, together with the familiar story of how Jack and Mary Livingstone met.

The title of the article is a bit misleading. “Great grandfather” is meant as in “good grandfather.” Were Jack alive today, he would be a great grandfather; one of his great grandchildren submitted an article to the Jack Benny Times fan publication last year.

The photos came with the story.

He's a Great Granddad!
At "39," Jack Benny shrugs off the years— and revels in the delight his first grandchild has brought him
By FREDDA BALLING
AS EVERYBODY KNOWS, Jack Benny is only 39. It's one of the enchanting myths which the Waukegan wit has encouraged about himself, and which the American public has gleefully accepted. But Jack's self-proclaimed "ceiling on birthdays" does create some problems in statistics — none greater than that which transpired last summer, when daughter Joan Benny Baker became the mother of a six-pound, four-ounce baby boy named Michael. This somewhat early grandfatherhood fascinated newswriters and amateur gagsters around the land.
It was written that the baby was born with a heavy head of hair about the color and consistency of Jack's "Sunday toupee" (he doesn't wear one any day of the week) . The infant's eyes were said to be "mountain lake" blue, and the song that soothed him in moments of distress was, inevitably, "Love in Bloom." But principally Jack was headlined as one of the youngest grandparents in show business — at the age of 39.
The American public quickly took it up. Letters began to avalanche upon the already crowded CBS-Hollywood office. The mail could be divided roughly into three categories: Boasts from younger-than-Benny grandparents (one precocious type from, naturally, Texas, reported himself a grandfather at 28); boasts from legitimate 39-ers with more than one grandchild (usually acquired in a multiple birth) ; protests from Jack's authentic contemporaries (he has never made a strict secret of his actual 61 years) — who complained that, if he'd only stress the truth about his age, they would be far and away ahead of him in the grandparent sweepstakes.
A good many of the letters enclosed snapshots of beloved progeny. At length, after having spent a morning in study of letters and pictures. Jack observed thoughtfully, "Mary and I made just one mistake. We should have had a family of six or eight. Just look at these kids!
Aren't they great? Wouldn't you love to have every single one!" Jack added, taking on the Benny TV personality, "Of course, there's something special about Michael . . . and I'm not saying it because I'm prejudiced. Hmmmmmmmm . . . it's true."
Michael started out being "something special" about seven months before he was born. During one of Joan's regular long-distance phone calls, placed to her parents two or three times a week, Joan confided that she had her doctor's assurance she was going to make Jack a grandfather. She added that she wanted to keep it secret as long as possible.
Jack and Mary agreed with their daughter. A secret it would be.

The following day, Jack showed up at Hillcrest Country Club, as usual, for his luncheon date with George Burns and other members in good standing at the Comedians' Table. George, grandparent of almost a year's seniority at the time, "happened" to have a fistful of his grandson's latest pictures in his wallet, and passed them around.
This was more than mortal man could stand. With quiet dignity, Jack announced that "by this time next year" he would have some pictures of his own to parade. He added, however, that his anticipation was a secret for the time being. After luncheon he joined a foursome for golf and confided his news to them, again with the aside that the information was given in confidence. At the nineteenth hole, Jack joined the usual alibi session and, as soon as he could get a word in, spread the tidings — requesting, of course, that there be no broadcasting of the facts.
All in all, it proved to be a lovely day, Always enthusiastic, Jack had a prize inspiration on his way home and stopped at an out-of-the-way shop which is patronized mainly by musicians of note. After proper deliberation and testing, he tucked his purchase under his arm and hastened home to Mary's welcoming kiss.
"Hi, Doll. Bought a present for the expected," he said, handing the package to Mary.
"Not already!" she moaned, and her expression took on starch. There was no real need for her to remove the wrappings and unfasten the case, but she played out the scene just the same. Nestled in the velvet lining was a quarter-sized violin.
"Oh, Jack!" said his wife, her tone a compound of exasperation, amusement and intense affection.
"Cute, huh?" said Jack, very offhandedly.
Suspicion gradually superseded all other emotions as Mary studied the man to whom she has been married for nearly twenty-nine years. "Jack, you didn't tell anyone at the club, did you?"
Jack said, "Well . . ." as only he can say it. After a pause he went on, "Naturally, I had to tell George." Jack explained that George had been flashing pictures around the luncheon table, so . . . And then, out on the golf course, one of the guys had said something about his daughter's youngsters, which reminded Jack . . . Oh, yes, and then in the locker room there had been a few fellows standing around. . . .
"Jack! What will Joanie think?" Mary demanded, and this time the inflection denoted shocked reproof and genuine annoyance modified very little by loving understanding.
Jack took refuge in a show-business trick which is his and his alone, because — according to other comedians — no one else has the courage it takes to put it into effect. It goes like this in a theater: Jack tells a joke and then, with a straight face — a face on which cosmic melancholy and quiet command are mingled — he stares at the audience and waits. And he continues to wait, permitting himself no more than a patient sigh. According to show-business experts, this leaves an audience with a choice: To laugh or to leave the theater. They always laugh.
And so, regarding Mary with his life-is-a-bad-joke-on-somebody-but-don't-blame-me expression. Jack waited.
And Mary laughed.
She had no real cause to fear betrayal of the secret. The Hillcrest Country Club takes care of its own. Not one word of the Baker expectancy oozed out of California. Not until Eastern columnists noted Joan's chic maternity outfits did the item appear in the press.

The three Bennys have always been exceptionally devoted. During the war years, when Jack was spending every possible hour doing shows at military installations, there was a gag among his troupe that he had to be told a departure hour was thirty minutes in advance of the true time, because he would be shopping until the last minute for keepsakes for Mary and Joan. Some of the finest modern-Marine handcarving of native outriggers and temple ornaments brought genuine antique prices from a not entirely hoodwinked customer from Beverly Hills. It was in India that Jack — according to reports — would have been left behind if it hadn't been possible to hear him, over a mile's distance, hastening to the plane. They sell an awful lot of bells in Bombay.
Bearing this family devotion in mind, several local financial wizards called their brokers to order additional shares of telephone stock, when they learned that Joan Benny was to marry Seth Baker and live in New York — while Jack and Mary remained on the West Coast. Telephone dividends, the wizards figured, were certain to rise on the basis of fantastically increased long-distance tolls from coast to coast.
When the same shrewd gentlemen heard of Jack's impending grandfatherhood, they added still further telephone shares to their holdings. Well-informed sources say that this perspicacity has paid off — at least one such "wizard" bought a custom-made Cadillac the other day.

There is a story behind the long-distance telephone enthusiasm of the Bennys. As is rather well known by now. Jack and Mary met when Zeppo Marx and young Mr. Benny were invited by Mary's sister Babe — who was also in vaudeville and on the same bill with the boys — to enjoy a home-cooked meal in Vancouver, where Mary's family was then living. Mary was twelve at the time and was overwhelmed by the looks and charm of the "Walter Raleigh" of Waukegan.
It can't be recorded that Jack reciprocated her interest. Actually, there was in his deportment, a suggestion that — far from tossing down his cloak for her dry-footed comfort — he would have gagged her with it. Sub-teen Mary was stuck at the conversational stage of development and was trying hard to impress Mr. Benny — which might have been okay if he could have used any of her lines in his act afterward. But no such luck. Said Benny to Marx, "Get me out of here. What am I doing with this . . . this kid?"
Years passed. Mary and her family moved south to San Francisco and, once again. Jack was a dinner guest during a San Francisco booking. He excused himself as quickly as manners would allow. By the time Mary met Jack for the third time, the family was living in Los Angeles. By now, Mary had been graduated from high school and was working at the hosiery counter at the May Company (a long-time Benny radio gag which is actually based on truth).
Mary and her family caught Jack's act at the Orpheum, and he joined them afterward for a post- theater dinner. As Mary remembers, "He sounded a little like a jukebox with the needle stuck. He couldn't get off one subject: 'My, how you've changed!' "
The following day he strolled into the May Company shortly before noon and asked Mary to join him for lunch. She was so excited she couldn't swallow her coffee, much less a sandwich. That night they had dinner at what was, in those innocent days of 1926, one of downtown Los Angeles' great restaurants. The Victor Hugo. Mary had never been in the place before. Again, she was too thrilled to eat.
The following night Jack took her to the Cocoanut Grove, and Mary definitely had no appetite. She might have starved altogether if Jack hadn't left to keep his San Francisco booking, and from there worked his way northward, theater by theater. When he reached Seattle he learned that he had been re-booked in Los Angeles, so naturally he telephoned Mary to ask her to reserve a few dates while he was in town. He had learned — by the secret method of listening to Mary's conversation — that she had at least one beau who kept her evenings busy, so he felt he should clear the way.
When the long-distance call came in from Seattle — the first one Mary had ever received — she was so overcome that she couldn't think of anything to say. The fact that it was one o'clock in the morning and she had been awakened out of a sound sleep may also have had something to do with it. Plus the fact that her parents were having no trouble finding words to say how they felt about it all.

Mary's second long-distance conversation with Jack resulted from Mary's placing a call to her sister. Babe, in Chicago to announce that she was going to be married. Babe said Mary was too young, and why didn't she come to Chicago, where Babe was appearing on the same bill with Jack Benny, to discuss the matter. Jack got on the wire and seconded the motion. So Mary went to Chicago to talk over her "youthful unpreparedness for marriage" — and three days later, in Waukegan, married Jack. The date was January 14, 1927, and it marked the beginning of one of the greatest telephonic relationships on record.
Passing a practice from one generation to the next was easy, in this instance. When Joan Benny was a student at Stanford, an audit of the telephone expense indicated that her annual tuition was only slightly greater than her toll calls.
And then she married, moved East, and set out a welcome mat for the stork. During one of her calls last spring, Joan told her father that she and Seth had almost settled on a choice of names for the impending infant: "Jack" for a boy, "Jacqueline" for a girl. Jack considered. "Alexander Graham Baker might be a nice name," he murmured.
Always a quick man to respond to requests for benefit performances. Jack has always tried to adhere to one rule — that the site of the benefit be close at hand.
Yet, in March, when he was asked to appear in Florida for a worthy cause — at the height of the radio and TV season, when every moment was precious — he said with alacrity, "I should be able to fly to New York, have a day with Joanie, fly to Florida, do the show, fly back to New York for a day with Joanie, and be home in time for the Sunday show." He made it.
Originally the stork's visit had been scheduled for July 7, so the Bennys, George smd Gracie AUen Bums flew out of Los Angeles on July Fourth, in order to reach New York in plenty of time. George and Gracie were scheduled to serve as godparents for the infant, and also as shields against a nervous breakdown for corridor-pacing Jack.
July fifth passed without incident, except for the record-breaking heat and humidity, which — as George pointed out — could have been a mild reflection of Jack's blood pressure.

The sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth sweltered by, marked only by the nightly trips of the Bennys, the Burnses, and the Bakers to some air-cooled restaurant where they talked far into the closing hours. Inevitably, someone would stop at the table, fix Jack with a sympathetic eye and ask, "How are you getting along. Jack? Really, I mean."
It began to prey on Jack's already unsteady nervous system. He said to George Burns one evening, "How do you think I look?"
"About thirty-eight," said the man who has known him since he was eighteen.
On the night of July fifteenth, Paul Hahn (president of the American Tobacco Company) gave a party to which all the ladies- and gentlemen-in-waiting were invited. Joan had never looked lovelier — nor more remote from the hospital. Jack spent the evening trying to avoid people who wanted to tell him the joke about the twins who refused to be born because they were so polite that neither would go first.
At seven on the morning of a sweltering, shimmering July sixteenth, Seth telephoned to say that he and Joan were at the hospital. Jack and Mary were still trying to get showered, dressed, and breakfasted in order to charge into the waiting room when Seth called again at eight to say that Michael had made his debut. All critics' reviews were raves — Michael looked like a smash hit.
After their trip to the hospital to meet Michael and to check on Joan's condition (she was doing wonderfully), Jack and Mary departed to go on separate errands. Mary had postponed several weeks of essential shopping, not wanting to be away from Joan at a critical time, but now she could descend on the shops with an easy mind. She agreed to meet Jack at their Sherry-Netherland suite at five.
He was ten minutes late. "Because a fellow can't do a thing like this in a rush. There are too many details to be checked," he explained. Pridefully, he pulled the wrappings off a junior golf bag and a full set of clubs.
"Oh, Jack,'" said Mary.
So far, however, Rochester has had the last word. When he was told that Jack was now known as "Grandfather, J.G." — and the "J.G." was identified as "Junior Grade"— he sniffed. "That's nuthin'," he said emphatically. "In twenty years, when Michael becomes a father, Mr. Benny will be the only great grandfather in the new Kinsey report — still thirty-nine!"