Doggie Ballet

Chuck Jones and his animators could do “coy” really well by the 1950s. Here’s Mark Antony the dog trying to distract its owner by doing some ballet moves in Kiss Me Cat (1953).



Ken Harris, Ben Washam and Lloyd Vaughan are the credited animators in this cartoon.

Jack Benny and Laugh-In

Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In was supposed to be hip and new in 1968, but there were still vestiges of old comedy hanging around. The show was doing George Jessel jokes. And NBC seems to have shoved some of its old-timers it still had under contract in front of the camera. Young viewers must have thought “What are THESE people doing here?”

One of NBC’s old vaudevillians who showed up on Laugh-In was Jack Benny. But he was a wise old vaudevillian. For years and years, Jack made sure nothing was ever done on his radio or TV shows that didn’t fit his character. And he applied the same thing to his big appearance on Laugh-In on February 2, 1970.

Laugh-In was known for quick cuts and fast one-liners. Benny was known for anything but. He could stare immobile at an audience for 15 seconds and the laughs would build and build. When it came to Laugh-In, the writers simply played the slow Benny off the fast format.

Here’s a promotional story from newspapers just before the show aired. There’s no byline, so it could be the product of NBC’s publicity department.

'Laugh-In' confuses old Benny
HOLLYWOOD — Jack Benny acted bewildered, but he was having the time of his life.
“This is the third day on the show,” he said during a break. “It’s the most fun I’ve ever had as a guest. They handled me very well. It was never tiring for a second.” The show? “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In,” to be colorcast over NBC-TV 8 to 9 p.m. Monday.
Jack, who had been approached several times to do the show, finally agreed.
ALWAYS BEWILDERED
“The only suggestion I made was that I should appear constantly bewildered as to what was going on,” said Jack. “I felt this was better than just doing jokes.” Jack’s sense of bewilderment was not far from his reaction to the series when it first came on the air.
“When I was asked what I thought of it, I said I didn’t have the slightest idea how this show would do,” Jack recalled. “I said it might be a flop or the biggest sensation of the season. I didn’t know which. Neither way would have surprised me. I reserved comment.”
Benny continued watching the show and became a great fan.
ENJOYS PACE

“I enjoy watching it,” he said. “I like all the short bits. There’s always something else, and if one bit isn’t so funny, another one comes along quickly. I also love the Lucy show. I try to watch both when I’m home.”
Jack never felt that the ‘Laugh-In’ pace would be hard to sustain.
“The fact that they were able to keep up the pace didn’t surprise me,” said Jack. “The more shows they did, the more it worked. They can keep it up so long as they have the people to write for. If years from now they have trouble casting the show, then something could happen to it.”
Benny is high on the present cast.
“I liked Rowan and Martin long before they did ‘Laugh-In’,” said Jack. “They are very good. I think everyone in the cast is very good, both fellows and girls. I really mean it.”
GOLDIE HAWN
He singled out Goldie Hawn for special comment. “As far as Goldie Hawn is concerned,” said Jack, “nothing can keep her from being a great star. She wouldn't be able to get out of the way of stardom! The reason she is great is because she doesn’t realize herself why. Like Gracie Allen, Goldie doesn’t have the slightest idea why she is so good. I saw her in ‘Cactus Flower.’ They couldn’t have found anybody better, or as good. Even though she'll make a lot of pictures, she ought to continue doing ‘Laugh-In,’ when she has time. You can get into a picture that isn’t so good, but she is always so good on this show, and it will continue to be good for her.”
“Perhaps the greatest tribute Benny could pay the show is that he cites it professionally as a good lesson in comedy timing.
“Everybody can learn something from somebody else,” he said. “I hope others have learned something from what I have done. You can learn pacing from ‘Laugh-In.’ I tell my writers this. If a scene is not funny all the way through, cut it until it is funny. Move it, keep it going.”
He made one final suggestion in agreeing to do “Laugh-In.”
“They didn’t want to use the water bit with me,” said Jack. “I said to do the show right I told them to sock-it-to-me!”

I don’t like putting up posts with a lot of video because the links always seem to die. But, below, you can see clips of Jack’s appearance, though there isn’t the one where he gets socked-it-to. One of Benny’s radio writers, Hugh Wedlock, Jr., wrote for Laugh-In, but was gone by this season. Still, I suspect Jack heard some of these jokes, or variations on them, when on the Orpheum circuit in 1920.

Saturday Morning Cartoons, 1940s Style

There were Saturday morning cartoons before there were Saturday morning cartoons.

“Saturday morning cartoons” has become an umbrella term to describe made-for-TV animated shows that may, or may not, have aired on network television on Saturdays. It was a concept that evolved by the mid-‘60s. Before that, networks would run some non-animated programming, such as the wonderful Shari Lewis on NBC, in addition to old theatricals. Some networks didn’t even bother signing on until 9 a.m. because Saturday morning wasn’t a lucrative time period. How things changed!

But before cartoons showed up on the small screen on Saturday mornings, they appeared on the big screen on Saturday mornings or afternoons. Theatres in the 1940s and ‘50s, looking for whatever business they could get, staged what were dubbed in some cases “Cartoon Carnivals.” They’d rent a pile of cartoons from the local exchange and run them. Some theatres would add non-animated comedy shorts to the mix as well—Three Stooges, Lew Lehr, etc.

They were huge successes; some theatres programmed them for year. In fact, MGM got on the bandwagon as in 1956 the studio put together “The M-G-M Carnival” including seven Tom and Jerry cartoons and several live-action shorts. It debuted at the Plaza in New York City, where 73% of admissions on the first week were adults (Variety, Sept. 12, 1956).

But back to the kiddie matinees. Here’s a story from April 1, 1948 from one of the papers in Pittsburgh. I failed to find an ad listing the various cartoons at the festival in question. It seems it was set up like a vaudeville programme—the first act was one that, if you missed it, you wouldn’t be missing the stars. In this case, it’s a 1947 Columbia cartoon starring the Fox and Crow. It reveals, among other things, that pre-Boomers were rude slobs. And they seem more interested in the junk food (as theatre owners were hoping) than the cartoons.

All-Cartoon Shows Growing in Popularity
By James W. Ross
Post-Gazette Staff Writer

ROY ROGERS and Gene Autrey [sic] be burnin' up the plains and scatterin' the rustlers out yonder, stranger, but around these parts they'd better tighten up their cinches and get set for some real hard ridin'.
This is cartoon territory.
And this is the day of the “All-Cartoon Show.”
“17-Count ‘Em-17 Genuine Cartoons—Not a Live Actor in the Bunch”—and the kids are eating them up.
Started here about two years ago, the all-cartoon shows have been steadily growing in popularity with children of all ages, and reached a peak Easter Monday when one major chain alone scheduled them for 13 different neighborhood movies.
THEY'RE only held about four or five a year, usually at holidays, and theaters and management couldn't take it if the kids wanted them oftener.
At the Whitehall Theater, Brownsville road, the youngsters started to line up at 8:30, even though the show was set to start at 10:30.
The price was a flat two bits, and many a tyke had a fistful of change. The trick is to get one guy to buy a batch of tickets so everyone doesn't have to stand in line. One boy just about threw the harassed cashier by dumping out a fistful of 25 pennies.
BUSINESS is at its best at the popcorn counter. If a regular movie calls for one box, a cartoon show seems to indicate two or more. Plus candy. Plus innumerable drinks of water both before and during the show.
When about half of the 1,200 youngsters were seated, a young usher hurried up to the manager. "There's a couple of kids here with water guns. What do I do?" "Find them and take the guns away," the manager called back as he ran to the door to untangle the snarled line.
One girl, about 16, walked down the aisle looking for a seat. A small boy, who could have been her kid brother, wagged his finger at her and sing-songed "I'm gonna tell your boy friend. Coming to see a cartoon show with a bunch of little kids!"
WHEN the first of the 17 cartoons on the screen, a shout rose from the audience, 'then a hush to end all hushes settled in. The first cartoon, by the way, was titled, "Tooth or Consequence."
There was "Mighty Mouse" and "Tom and Jerry" and "Popeye" and "Mighty Mouse" again, and more and more up to 17.
Bigger boys lolled beyond the first row of seats, on a floor carpeted with spilled popcorn.
The little guys and girls, some of them on their mother's laps, craned to see what everyone else was laughing at. Titles were read aloud, quietly and in unison, apparently in an agreement to supply the small fry with the information.
STRANGELY enough, most are glad the end of 17 cartoons, although they usually count just to make sure they're getting a full measure.
At the Whitehall, and in several other movies, there was an added inducement to leaving "Free to everyone attending—a five-cent candy bar."

Cartoon carnivals, of sorts, still exist today. There have been animation festivals though, while not necessarily pretentious, are for people who want to examine Cartoon As Film-with-a-capital-F and not as entertainment. Jerry Beck posts about occasional animation roundups at theatres around the Los Angeles area that are fun events for fans. Popcorn available, we suspect. And on the other side of the U.S., Tom Stathes gets out his canisters of old reels and puts together a showing at a small venue for groups of diehards and friends. Want to see a Van Beuren, or a silent Farmer Alfalfa (with live musical accompaniment) or some creepy stop-motion film from 80 or so years ago? That’s where you go.

Maybe there are more of these kinds of showings elsewhere but I rarely hear of any. Too bad. Having first seen Tex Avery’s Magical Maestro on the big screen, I can say that watching cartoons at home is always entertaining, but there’s nothing like rows full of people in theatre seats laughing at a pair of rabbits suddenly joining Poochini in a Hawaiian dance.

The Other Place

I’ll show those pigs that I’m not stuck.
If I can’t blow it down, I’ll blow it up.

The Big Bad Wolf in The Three Little Bops meets his demise in a typical Warren Foster joke. He moves further and further away so his fuse won’t get blown out but he ends up so far away, he blows himself up (to the sound of a saxophone which none of the pigs/bops are playing).



Well, the Big Bad Wolf was really gone
And with him went his corny horn.
Went out of this world without a trace.
Didn’t go to Heaven, was the other place.

Director Friz Freleng has the camera pan around the background.



Freleng makes makes a cut and pans down, then dissolves to the camera moving down some more and resting on animation of the wolf playing the trumpet softly.



Gerry Chiniquy and Bob Matz are the credited animators, with Irv Wyner providing stylised backgrounds.

Jippo Kills

Jippo endows its imbibers with different reactions in the warped Fleischer cartoon Betty Boop M.D. (1932). An invalid drinks some, starts scat singing and dancing, then dies. He makes his own grave, then his grave plants a scat singing flower.



Willard Bowsky and Tom Goodson are the credited animators.

Flynn No Failure

He was 30 years old, and considered himself a failure.

He had run for political office in Ohio and lost. He came west, was a graduate student speech at USC and planned to go into teaching, according to a 1953 Los Angeles Times story. Instead, at age 30 in 1955, he was the host of KTTV’s Whatsa Name, where four fashion models attempted to identify relatives of famous people.

It wasn’t quite the career path he was hoping for.

But things picked up and he got his big break in 1962, a TV role that made him famous to millions. He became “Old Leadbottom.”

That’s when Joe Flynn was enlisted for McHale’s Navy.

Flynn eventually became so well known that he became a “type.” Producer Mark Evanier once related how Joe Barbera wanted to hire Flynn to, basically, repeat his McHale’s Navy characterisation on a cartoon series but then hired John Stephenson instead because Stephenson sounded more like Flynn than Flynn did.

United Press International’s Hollywood reporter, Vernon Scott, talked to Flynn while the series was still on. His first column was published on May 29, 1963, and in it Flynn seems to place a great amount of importance on being important. I admit I’m confused about what Scott means when he says “He holds little brief for Bishop, however.” I presume Flynn and the dour Bishop didn’t get along.

Love to Hate Joe's Role
By VERNON SCOTT
HOLLYWOOD (UPI)—Persistence and a photogenic snarl have finally paid off for character actor Joe Flynn, who claims he's had a hundred false starts at achieving stardom.
For the uninitiated, Flynn (definitely no relation to Errol) plays the sulphurous Capt. Wallace Binghamton in video's "McHale's Navy"—a character you love to hate.
But to Flynn the dyspeptic despot of a miserable PT-boat base is an archangel.
Were it not for Binghamton, Flynn would still be lost in the horse latitudes of show biz searching for a claim to fame.
FOR MORE than 15 years the bespectacled performer has wandered around seeking fortune and a modicum of fame. He has appeared in 50 movies and 350 television shows, including regular stints with George Gobel, Bob Newhart and Joey Bishop. He holds little brief for Bishop, however.
"It's a terrible thing to wake up one morning and find yourself 30 years old and a failure," Flynn said.
He was dispatching lunch in the Universal City commissary. Dressed in his Navy captain's uniform he looked every inch an actor. A former Army sergeant, even Flynn admits he couldn't pass for an old sea dog in real life.
"Guys I had gone to school with were doctors, lawyers and successful politicians," he continued in an obvious attempt to garner pity, "but I was still on the fringes of show business.
"I took every part offered me, from one-line bits to support roles in movies.

"EACH TIME I'd complete something worthwhile I was assured by the producer, my agent and friends that I was on my way. 'Just wait until this comes out,' they'd say.
"Well, I'd wait and out would come a bomb."
It was something of a surprise, then when "McHale's Navy" became ABC-TV's big hit of the year. People recognize Flynn on the street now, and he's hearing from old friends--doctors, lawyers and successful politicians, for example.
"It's a thrilling thing to be recognized and to have strangers address you by name," said Flynn. "And I get a big kick out of playing Binghamton. He's a cowardly naval officer. But having been a cowardly sergeant I was well prepared to play the role.
"The world is full of Binghamtons. And we all have at least one of them in our lives that we like to see get his lumps.
"AT THE SAME time he does get some sympathy because, like most of us, he wants to be something he isn't. At least he tries, and you have to give him credit for that."
Because Flynn was stomping around the boondocks of show biz for so long even small touches of status elevate his morale. A few weeks ago he arrived on the set to discover that a canvas chair had been added to the stage one with his name (Joe Flynn) stenciled on the back. He almost came down with the vapors.
"Nobody will ever know how much that meant to me," he concluded. "I was so proud of it I didn't sit in the chair all day. I didn't want to sit down and cover up my name." The name is Flynn, F-L-Y-N-N - like in Errol.

Now that Flynn was a success, he seems to have settled into a comfortable, drab life. Scott pulls a punch here. Flynn didn’t like Ernie Borgnine but nowhere in the story does he or Scott explain why. Maybe Flynn was a fan of Ethel Merman, I don’t know.

This story appeared on June 6, 1964.

Joe Flynn Smokes Pipe in Secret Because of Sponsor
By VERNON SCOTT
UPI Hollywood Correspondent
HOLLYWOOD (UPI) — Joe Flynn, the vile-tempered Capt Binghamton of “McHale's Navy,” is a placid soul off-screen who dabbles in politics and loafs as much as possible.
He’s a secret pipe-smoker because the show is sponsored by a cigaret company.
Another thing, he’s not particularly fond of his co-star, Ernest Borgnine. When he shouts at Commander McHale in a scene he is venting his own wrath at Borgnine.
If nothing else, that proves Flynn is courageous. Even he admits that big Ernie could dismember him with a single shot to the incisors.
Away from the set Flynn leads the good life. He likes nothing better than to settle down in a comfortable chair with a highball.
The easy chair most likely will be an Italian provincial number in his contemporary home in Benedict Canyon, a genteel section of Beverly Hills. He and his wife Shirley (married eight years) have lived in the four-bedroom, three-bath house for the past three years. They have two sons, Tony, 5, and Kenneth Conrad (K.C.), 4.
The senior Flynns collect paintings—28 in all—ranging from modern impressionists to abstracts. Flynn enjoys just looking at them. Around the house he is totally useless.

“I’m not a handyman,” he says drily, “but I have a great knack for going to the yellow pages (of the telephone book).”
Every work day the actor is up at 5:30 in the morning and seldom returns before 6:30 p.m. He’s home for dinner every night.
“I’m on the Three-S diet,” he boasts, “Steak, Salad and Scotch. We exist almost exclusively on beef—steaks, roasts, hamburger, meatloaf and stew—Shirley cooks them all well.”
Joe drives a 1962 sedan while Shirley pilots the children around in a sports compact.
If Flynn appears to be more affluent than his television salary might indicate, it is only fair to state that he also owns two parking lots in the heart of Beverly Hills. The Comstock Lode produced less gold.
Capitalist Flynn has refused to buy a pet for his youngsters. For himself, however, he has a year-old cocker spaniel named Guy.
Flynn is remarkably proud of the fact that he is a lounge lizard, a total stranger to exercise. He does not play golf, swim or play tennis. Just watching such exertions gives him the bends, at least at the elbows.
His friends are mostly performers—George Gobel, Bob Newhart, Robert Vaughn and Tim Conway, who plays the hare-brained Navy ensign on “McHale's Navy.”
The Flynns rarely entertain and rarely dine out. A big night in the family consists of a visit with friends. Joe prefers to relax with a good biography or history book and hit the hay early.
A gardener relieves Flynn of hacking around the shrubs and flowers, the thought of which appalls him. A steady housekeeper makes life easier for Shirley.
Frequently Flynn devotes his weekends to the U.S. Navy, traveling around in his Captain’s uniform for benefits, telethons and a variety of Navy functions. Sometimes he is paid. Sometimes not.
He takes along his stand-in and secretary, Jimmy Jones, who does the driving and handles his fan mail.
When not in uniform Flynn lazes around in sweaters and slacks.
He is much in demand as master of ceremonies for Democratic Party functions. He is an ardent Democrat and longtime friend of Jesse Unruh, California’s “big daddy" of Democratic politics.
This summer Flynn and his pretty wife are vacationing in Europe, safe in the knowledge that he won't have to wear his Navy uniform for two whole months.

McHale’s Navy left the air in 1966. Flynn’s personal friendship and on-camera chemistry with Conway led to the two starring in a sitcom called The Tim Conway Show in 1970. It was one of Conway’s numerous failures. At least it got to air. In 1972, Flynn shot a comedy pilot with Soupy Sales called The Bear and I that went nowhere. In early 1967, Flynn and Jack Weston filmed a Dragnet parody called Ready and Willing. It got an airing seven years later as part of NBC Monday Night at the Movies.

But Flynn found steady employment in Disney family comedies until his untimely death in his swimming pool at age 49 in 1974.

The Colour of Danger

Here’s another reason why Don Patterson should have kept his director’s job at Walter Lantz.

There’s a good colour change effect at the start of Termites From Mars (1953). As the Martian danger approaches in various gag situation, the sky turns darker and more ominous, becoming various shades of magenta.



Later Lantz cartoons wouldn’t have bothered with all this. They would have gone for the gag (ship becomes a sub, plane hides in a volcano, skyscrapers turn into huge gun barrels) and that’s it.

There’s no story credit on this short. La Verne Harding, Ray Abrams and Paul J. Smith are the animators.

The Chaplin Bears

George and Junior dress up as fire hydrants to attract a little dog they’re trying to catch in Hound Hunters (1947). If you’ve seen enough cartoons, you know what’s going to happen next.



Curiosity.



The dogs realise where the noise is coming from. Hydrants!



Here is George and Junior’s reaction. This is one time in the cartoon where the characters don’t have their tongues sticking straight out in shock.



Both George and Junior do that one-foot slide when running around a corner that Charlie Chaplin did in his films.



Heck Allen helped Avery with the gags, Johnny Johnsen is the background artist and the animation is credited to Ed Love, Walt Clinton, Ray Abrams and Preston Blair. It sounds like George is played by Frank Graham sped up.

Canadians Love Jack Benny

Today being Canada’s birthday and it also being a Sunday, the day when Jack Benny broadcast for many years on radio, let us combine the two and look back at when Benny’s show aired from Vancouver on April 23, 1944.

Benny’s appearance was part of Canada’s Sixth Victory Loan push. His cast and his writers made the trip up by rail and put on their Sunday night broadcast from the Forum [right], at one time the home of the Western League Vancouver Canucks.

Joining the Benny regulars were a couple of incidental players. John Brown had been a part of Allen’s Alley, but when Fred Allen went off the air for a year and a bit due to heart problems, Brown left New York and came to Hollywood. Benny used him for a while on his show. Sara Berner was later one of one the telephone operators on the show. On the northern swing, she played Ruby Wagner, who was a real-life relative of Mary Livingstone. Mary grew up in Vancouver and the Wagners lived there, too. The Marks house on Nelson near Denman Street was torn down for apartments some time ago.

The three Vancouver papers covered the Benny visit and broadcast. Let’s present a story and two columns from the Sun the day after the programme aired. It would appear, judging by the stories, there was only one broadcast, with no live repeat for the West Coast. Benny was broadcast at both 4 p.m. and 8:30 p.m., the latter time slot on Mutual/Don Lee stations, which were allowed to make a transcription of the NBC line feed for re-broadcast that season.

The Benny show was broadcast locally in Vancouver on CBR and CKWX at 4 p.m., but 1943-44 was the last season for Benny on Canadian radio. When he was sponsored by Lucky Strikes, he was removed because Luckies were not sold in Canada and the CBC felt the sponsor was so integrated with the actual comedy that mentions of the product couldn’t be edited out satisfactorily. Listeners in Vancouver had to tune in to Seattle stations to hear Benny.

First, let’s go to the unbylined story about the broadcast. BC’s liquor laws are still antiquated (until 1986, one could not buy a drink on a Sunday), the tolls were removed in the 1960s conveniently prior to an election and the Grouse Chalet has been eclipsed by bigger ski resorts. Mayor J.W. Cornett has been dead since 1973. He owned a shoe store. He was not an actor, as is pretty clear if you listen to the broadcast. And, yes, English Bay and Stanley Park are still there.

Gag Experts Give International Publicity to City in Rollicking Show at Forum
Beauties of Vancouver Extolled by Benny Broadcast Before 9000
Thirty-five million Americans from California to Rhode Island to Montana to Texas now know that Vancouver is a beautiful city practically surrounded by a body of water called English Bay—and toll bridges.
They know it’s a city in a “monetary paradise,” where ten dollars (American) will get you eleven (Canadian) without even going near a race track.
And they’ve been tipped off, too, to some of our local restrictions governing the sale of spiritus fermenti. (Spiritus fermenti? That, according to Jack Benny, is the stuff that comes in pints, quarts and W.C. Fields.)
And this, and Mayor Cornett, too, came to them on Sunday afternoon when Benny broadcast his weekly show from the Hastings Park Forum before an estimated crowd of 9000.
Vancouver, its Lions Gate bridge, Grouse Mountain chalet and its largest hotel, rated more plugs in the script than Don Wilson was able to muscle in for that breakfast food he peddles. You know, they’re tempting and toasty-brown, and they come in the big new 12-ounce economy size package!
Benny, the world’s most loveable heel; Wilson, Rochester, Mary Livingstone, Phil Harris and Dennis Day were accorded one of the greatest ovations a Vancouver audience has ever let loose for any visiting celebrity.
Some statistics might be interesting: Usually Benny allows about five minutes’ slack in the script to take care of the laughs. Sunday they took up seven minutes. And, at that, he cut the laughs short time after time by diving back into the script.
The script was chockfull of local gags, the longest one centred about a supposed Vancouverite who announced he’d been appointed by the major to welcome Benny to the city.
“I’ve lived here all my life, and if there any places of interest you’ve missed I’ll be glad to point them out to you,” he offered.
Then the script went like this:
BENNY: Well, let me see, I’ve been through Stanley Park and then I . . .
VANCOUVERITE: Stanley Park? Where’s that?
BENNY: Why it’s right at the foot of Lions Gate Bridge.
VANCOUVER: Lions Gate Bridge? . . . They have one here?
BENNY: Of course, that’s the bridge where Burrard Inlet meets English Bay.
VANCOUVERITE: English Bay?
BENNY: Certainly. That’s the body of water that practically surrounds the city.
VANCOUVERITE: Oh! So THAT’S what that is.
The payoff on this gag came later in the program when Benny was telling Mayor Cornett that his emissary had lived here all his life and “didn’t know that large body of water out there was English Bay.”
“Oh, is THAT what is?” said the Mayor.

That five-day wait imposed on visitors before they can buy a liquor permit was milked down to the dregs for several laughs. Like when Benny told Rochester “money isn’t all that important,” and the little valet cracked back:
“Boss you talk like a man whose five days are already up.”
Those toll bridges which are Vancouver’s first line of defense against any invasion were worked to show Benny up for the cheap heel he is supposed to be. Mayor Cornett told him how beautiful the Grouse Mountain Chalet is and added that the toll charge is only a quarter.
“It’s one of the beauty spots of Canada,” said the mayor.
“Well, that settles it,” replied Benny. “I’ll take your word for it.” Benny and the rest of the cast stuck meticulously to the script throughout, except once when the comedian ad-libbed a subtle crack about our weather.
When Mary Livingstone reminded him, “You’re not wearing a toupee because it’s cold,” Benny came back with, “Sister, are you kidding?” It wasn’t in the script but neither was that rain, or the sheet of ice that lay under the Forum floor.
Incidentally, Mary was well protected against the cold by an “ah-inspiring” mink coat.
The touching farewell to Dennis Day was more than “script.” The singer could not withhold his tears and had trouble continuing with his lines.
* * *
The bagpipes probably have never been played to a larger audience than the one which heard their skirl over NBC on Sunday. The piper was Sergeant William Lamont of the Vancouver Seaforths.
* * *
Mary Livingstone’s gag about her uncle Harry packed a double kick for one member of the audience—Harry Wagner, a native of Vancouver, who is her uncle.
A tireless showman, Benny returned to the Forum with his cast last night to entertain 7000 troops from all over Vancouver.
* * *
Fifteen minutes before and after the actual broadcast, Benny and his cast put on a show that packed more laughs than the radio script.
Phil Harris, who said he was taking over while “Jackson” was putting on his hair, apologized for not bringing his wife, Alice Faye.
“She wanted to come,” he said, “but one of us had to stay home and have the baby.”
Don Wilson told the story about the elm tree that was planted in Waukegan, Benny’s home town, in honor of the comedian.
The tree withered up and died, Wilson explained, because, as Fred Allen said at the time, there was the tree in Waukegan while the sap was running around in Hollywood.

Two of the Monday morning columnists talked about the class of Benny and his cast members. First, let’s hear from Pat Wallace, the Women’s Editor at the Sun (she would move to the competing Daily Province later in the year. She talks briefly about Mary Livingstone. While Jack flew to various parts of the world in the off-season to entertain troops, Mary stayed at home, but was nonetheless helping to boost morale.

Talk of the Town
By Pat Wallace
Benny Meets So Many
After watching the JACK BENNY gang this week, we’ve come to the conclusion that it takes a lot more than talent to be a top-ranking celebrity.
They need the patience of Job, the charm of Cleopatra and the endurance of MacArthur.
Ever since the Grape-Nut and, pardon us, we nearly forgot, Flakes radio troupe arrived here last Tuesday night or Wednesday morning to be exact, to do a considerable chunk of pun-plugging for the Sixth Victory Loan, they’ve been hounded and harried by swarms of signature-seeking fans during practically every waking minute. Not once have they refused. And more important, not once have they appeared ungracious or bored as they signed, signed and signed again.
It’s not only the autograph seekers which must stretch their civility to the snapping point, but the personality parasites—those hangers-on who stick their faces up to the outer rays of the lime-light.
* * *
Mary’s Not Contrary

Sunday afternoon at the nationwide broadcast, with nine thousand packing the Forum to the rafters, both aforementioned types were out in full force. Yet exhausted as they all were, Jack, Mary, Phil, Rochester, and recently arrived DENNIS DAY, naughty boy of the show going nautical next week, had a word, a smile and a quick scrawl for anyone who asked, and believe you men, plenty did.
The whole troupe were feeling sort of low, too. Yesterday’s number was Dennis’ swan-song for the duration, and as Mary told us: “It’s like losing one of the family. We are that you know.” It’s easy to see it. They worry about each other, do plenty of kidding back and forth, and most noticeable of all; they build each other up continually.
It’s quite evident out in public that Jack takes the lead, and Mary usually retires quietly to the background. Mary’s explanation: “I’m proud of being Mrs. Jack Benny.”
* * *
A Plug for a Jug
In fact, when they’re in Hollywood, Mary tells us she lives a pretty domestic life. “Except for rehearsals and the show at the week-ends, I spend a good deal of time at home. After all, my daughter JOANIE, who’s 10, needs attention, and I’ve my war work. I go to the Hollywood Canteen once a week, to Birmingham Hospital to chat with the servicemen Tuesdays, and Friday is my day at the Fort MacArthur Induction Centre.”
With their Vancouver stay up tomorrow morning, Mrs. Benny’s chief disappointment is the fact she never did find a moment to do any sight-seeing or shopping for additions to her collection of Toby jugs.
“I’ve loved it though, and maybe I’ll be able to sneak back again soon.”

And now, here’s Hal Straight, managing editor of the Sun. His column is a little odd; it comes to a very sudden end. The reference to pitching at the outset is kind of a little joke. Straight was a top amateur pitcher in Vancouver before pro ball returned to the city in 1937, and then covered the Vancouver Capilanos of the Western International League as Sports Editor. It’s a shame he didn’t talk baseball with Benny, as Jack was a fan.

From the Sun Tower
By Hal Straight
The General Is Pitching
Jack Benny and his troupe, with their wonderful tribute to Vancouver, almost pushed the war interest into the background over the week-end, but not quite.
Glamorous and U.S. president-nibbling General MacArthur, staged a pretty fair show himself. By landing on both sides of Hollandia in New Guinea in a sudden, important invasion, he made the strategy of the south Pacific and far east look quite clear.
The Navy is bombing the small islands—Jap strongholds—into submission which will open the way for the army to reach out from New Guinea to the Phillipines. Then with forces striking through Burma, Mr. Nippon will be completely cut off and will be left to shrivel like a sunburned cadaver which won’t take much sun.
A Fellow Named Benny
Like everybody else in this profession, we met Jack Benny. Before doing so we vowed we would not punish him with clichés, with the usual line of guff that must fatigue him, for instance: “Always listen to your broadcasts. Must be wonderful to be so successful! Are you really so stingy and do you really drive a Maxwell?”

But our good intentions were in vain. We exchanged “J’do’s,” both looked stupidly at each other and dug right into the frayed bag containing shopworn conversations.
“Saw you back in the Orpheum days when you HAD to play a violin,” we offered.
“Did you?” That was fourteen years ago. Time flies.”
“Saw you in Los Angeles a few years ago. You’ve lost weight.”
“Really! You notice it?”
“Yes. You’re quite a bit thinner.”
“Been on a diet. Was the only one who toured the war fronts who gained weight, 28 pounds. Quite unusual. I really am thin now.”
“Yes. Quite slim.”
“You’ve lost weight yourself,” twinkled Benny. “Oh, pardon me, I thought you were Don Wilson. What the devil, let’s relax and have a drink. Fellow can’t live on breakfast food forever.”
Which we thought was nicely done and the reason, probably, that Benny is “up there.”
Pin-Ups Not So Nude
Subsequently somebody mentioned something about pin-up girls. Benny, in grey-haired seriousness, explained that home folks had the wrong impression of servicemen’s “pin-ups.”
“They are not so naked. You’d be surprised at the modesty,” pointed out “Mr. Love-in-Bloom,” referring to servicemen’s quarters he saw overseas. Which brought us right into the conversation. On our Alaska Highway tour we bunked in army quarters and saw many walls papered with many pin-ups. At Dawson Creek the four walls of our room were covered. And there were no nudes.
Like most displays we saw, pretty girls, some of them completely clothed, others just decently, were predominant, but there were also pictures of the world war leaders, male actors and prominent people in general.
One place where we stayed there was a display of the famous Varga girls, the drawings that put Esquire magazine into the courts. But this display was on the back of a cupboard door, not open visibly.