How To Put Together a Cow

The Betty Boop Limited (1932) chugs along with not too much amusing going on until a bizarre scene closed to the end.

A cow (wearing boots) is straddling the rail tracks munching on grass. The speeding Betty Boop Limited hits it. Look what happens. The cow returns to the track in parts, its tail jumps back on it and it resumes placidly munching.



The Fleischer studio had an interesting type of brush work when it came to speed effects. We pointed it out in a post on Riding the Rails, a 1938 Boop cartoon.

Willard Bowsky and Tom Bonfiglio are the credited animators. Sammy Timberg and Bob Rothberg, according to ASCAP, supplied the score.

To Leave or Knotts to Leave

A successful TV series brings a conundrum. An actor wants a hit, but then after a while, it’s “fans-be-damned,” they want to leave for something bigger.

Such was the situation facing Don Knotts.

Knotts had appeared in No Time For Sergeants at the Alvin Theatre in New York and did stand-up a few times on Garry Moore’s TV show when he was signed to be part of Steve Allen’s Sunday night supporting cast in 1957. That was his first real television fame. He parlayed that and the film version of Sergeants into his most famous role, thanks to TV reruns, on the Andy Griffith Show, starting in 1960. He won a bucket full of Emmys. But, as an actor, what do you do? Do you stay in a show the fans want to see and stagnate, or do you tell the fans “sorry” and move on? Knotts made a decision.

We’ll get there in just a moment. First, a King Features column from November 4, 1957. Knotts had appeared with Allen as a guest going back to 1956, but he and his fellow castmates garnered endless publicity the following year as a result of Allen’s “Man on the Street” sketches.

Allen Show Ties Don In Knots
By STEPHEN H. SCHEUER
With the addition of Don Knotts to his roster of auxiliary funny men, Steve Allen became the contemporary Ted Healy. Ted launched the notorious Three Stooges on the road of fame and fortune. Steve is performing the same service for his three stooges.
There's a basic difference, however. The term stooge has fallen out of favor and today supporting comics are called second bananas. But don't let the title fool you, they're still stooges.
Each of his helpers has achieved an identity of his own on the Allen show. Louis Nye is Gordon Hathaway, Tom Poston is a bundle of confusion, and Don Knotts the third second banana, is a nervous wreck. Each of the trio has developed catch phrases and mannerisms which they use on most of the shows.

Since his debut on the show in February, Don finds that, wherever he goes, people greet him with "Are you nervous?" to which his answer is an inevitable quick "Nooo."
Some Regular Basis!
Before setting down to do the Allen show on a regular basis (Some regular basis! Don's been on week-to-week notice since he started) "Don enjoyed a roundabout career in show business. He started out as a comic and switched to straight acting for five or six years. He appeared in both the play and the film of "No Time for Sergeants" and bad so much time on his hands during these that he worked up a nightclub routine and some special material. He auditioned for the Allen "Tonight" show, and whisk, he was back as a comic again.
"I enjoy what I'm doing," Don told me, "and the Allen bunch is great to work for, but I hope eventually to do other things. I realize I'm going to face the hazard of typecasting — I'll bet that, if and when I leave the Allen show, people will think of men only as a nervous comic — but it's possible to beat that. I learned. People tend to think of you only in the light of the last thing they saw you do. So, one time, when I auditioned for a Western, I sent in a picture of myself in a western, outfit. I was one of the first people selected."
Kept on Toes
I asked Don whether the intense competition, the Allen show was having with the Ed Sullivan show had much effect on his work. "It keeps us on our toes," he answered. "But competition doesn't frighten me. In fact, talking about competition, you ought to try working with Steve, Tom and Louie. That's fast company; You've got to be good to slay with them."
Of his many experiences on the show, one stands out in Don's mind. "When Lou Costello was on the show," Don said, "he asked me for two autographed pictures. And here I've been watching him since I was a kid!"

We’re now at 1964. Knotts is at a career crossroads. Here’s a King Features column from July 18th.

Actor Is Facing Hard Decision
By CHARLES WITBECK
HOLLYWOOD — Don Knotts, who plays deputy Barney Fife on the Andy Griffith series, must make a big decision in the next month, and right now he is pondering, trying to figure out the correct move.
Don's problem is this — his contract ends next year and so does Andy Griffith's. What should he do after this coming season, which could be the final year for the winning combination of Griffith and Knotts?
If Andy decides to quit, should Don continue with the series? Or should he go after a series of his own, changing the locale and environment, but not the basic character of the small, know-it-all hero, deputy Barney Fife? Or, should Knotts leave TV and sign a motion picture contract? All these moves are distinct possibilities. As Don says, "almost every step you take seems a good one."
Since plans for such ventures are made many months ahead, Don must reach a decision shortly. "We've been on vacation so I haven't had a chance to talk to Andy about it," said Don. "I don't know how he feels about giving up after next season."
Series Could Go On
The Andy Griffith series could go on two or three more years running rampant over its competition, but the point has come when Andy might want to stop, having done his share. The point has also come where some storylines are off shoots of very funny shows, and, naturally, they can't quite top the initial ones. "So this makes you think, maybe you should move on to a new environment," says Knotts.
All this is going to disturb many Monday night fans who like the status quo of Sheriff Andy watching his little deputy, giving orders, acting like a vice-president only to foul up miserably.
Watching deputy Barney Fife is like looking in a mirror. He loves the pearls of truth that come out of his mouth and is willing to repeat them over and over. He loves to play boss, particularly as a little man, and he can't restrain from thinking he's a big law enforcement officer, only to remember at the last minute that he has the coinage of a mouse, Barney has a little of everyone in him and that's why Don Knotts is a three-time Emmy winner.
The supporting actor award is now known as the Don Knotts Award, thanks to the character the writers, Andy Griffith, producer Aaron Ruben and Don created. This year Knotts' name wasn't even mentioned, and was probably the first name to be tossed out. He had to be ineligible because he won too often. Don says the Barney Fife character was rounded out the first year on the air, and not much has been added to him since, because there isn't much more to take on first year on the air, and not much has been added to him since, because there isn't much more to take on.

"People don't change either," says Don. "You see, Andy and I have a pet hate — situation comedy. So we try to imitate real people and forget the plot as much as possible.
"What we try to do is make use of those conversational habits people have. Like Barney telling a joke, hearing laughter and then telling the joke over again. You've seen people do that. It's terrible, but some can't help it after hearing the laughter — it's a compulsion, and it's funny."
Has Don met many Barneys? "I ran into one in my home town, a perfect deputy Barney — ordering people around, acting efficient, loving his job. They had a parade for me and the deputy helped put everything together. After the parade dispersed the deputy drove the sheriff and myself back, and along the way the deputy hits the siren. In the back seat the sheriff looks over at me and says plaintively, 'I wish he wouldn't do that'."
'Child in Man's Body'
Evidently all sheriff departments have Barneys or write in to say they do, and all the law enforcement people like the character because he is so familiar. "Barney is a child in a man's body," says Don. "If you watch kids, you'll see them react immediately. They don't hide anything. The same thing happens with Barney. He expresses himself right there. If anything he overdoes it. "I think everyone wants to do that, but as grownups we can't. That's why it's fun to play the part. Then I'm free to let go."
Don doesn't react that easily off stage. He laughs a lot, he's friendly, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. He can get up before a live audience in a club and slay them, or he can relax and feel free filming the series, but he says he can't work before an audience and a camera at the same time. "I can't take that," he says.
Don first attracted attention on the Steve Allen Show, and says he went through a lot of strain at the time, because he was trying so hard to make good. The pressure was on him. "And I don't do as well under pressure," he says. "Others react differently. I'm much better when I'm relaxed and I know we can shoot over."
This past season Don spread himself out with nine or 10 guest appearances, and found the same old pressure returning when he appeared in front of an audience and camera. "It keeps coming back," he says, "and I just don't come off as well."
Like his crazy character, Barney, Don evidently is human too, not superman, and this chink or loophole only makes him even more likable.

Knotts was gone at the end of the 1964-65 season. He was jumping into films, lightweight farcical ones like The Ghost and Mr. Chicken and The Shakiest Gun in the West and, later, G-rated feature film comedy from Walt Disney Productions.

Whatever his earlier feelings about television work, he returned to it in 1979 on Three’s Company. About all I’ll say about it is it was no Andy Griffith Show. The Griffith show had dignity and warmth.

Knotts was known for many years for his shaky characters. In the end his health was shaky. He was 81 when he died in 2006. He was liked by TV viewers and respected by critics and colleagues, as best as I can tell. Was he right to walk away from Andy Griffith? Perhaps. But quitting a show beloved by millions never hurt his career or reputation.

I'm Multiplyin'

“Billions and trillions of wabbits!” cries Elmer Fudd, with the dialogue not synched to the animation.



Bugs Bunny rushes into the scene with the help of a dry brush and exits with a smear.



“I’m multiplyin’, see?” Bugs explains. “I’m multiplyin’!” As The Big Snooze was released in 1946, Bugs is using a 1946-style multiplying machine.



Rod Scribner, Izzy Ellis, Manny Gould and Bill Melendez are Bob Clampett’s animators on this one, which feels like it was edited with a lawnmower in places, the cuts in picture and sound are so abrupt.

Tex Smears the Cat

The starving bum cat who wants to eat a puny canary (“Well, I’ve been sick”) realises he saw something on the label of a bottle of Garden Jumbo Gro. He grabs the bottle. Here’s a type of a smear drawing that I don’t recall seeing in an Avery cartoon at MGM.



This, of course, is from one of Avery’s masterpieces, King-Size Canary (released in 1947). Bob Bentley, Ray Abrams and Walt Clinton are the credited animators.

Youth and Violins

Loads of laughs came Jack Benny’s way because of all the things he really wasn’t. He really didn’t drive a Maxwell. He really didn’t live next door to Ronald and Benita Colman. He really wasn’t tight with a buck. He really wasn’t a hopelessly inept violinist. And he didn’t wear a rug.

Well, I should qualify that. He did have a small one in some of his pictures in the 1930s. Perhaps that’s why he joked about it on his radio show for years. Interestingly, his buddies George Burns and Georgie Jessel both wore one. And so did Eddie Anderson on his TV show.

Jack talks about his hair and violin playing in this 1959 news syndicate story. He was about to receive a reward for his music which, no doubt, thrilled him. After reading a number of these interviews, I truly get the feeling he wasn’t kidding when he said he wished he could have been a great violinist.

HOLLYWOOD'S BEST PRESERVED 39:
Benny Gets Kick Helping Music
By BILL SLOCUM
Hearst Headline Service
NEW YORK, Nov. 28 — Talked with Jack Benny, 39, the other afternoon. Heavens, but the man has aged. Looked 43 if he looked a day.
In truth, he must be the best preserved Hollywood denizen in history. He is looking his 66th birthday in the face. Youthfully.
He was passing through, en route to Washington to receive the laurel leaf award at the National Press Club. It was given annually for contributions to music. Such as Stokowski and George Szell have won it.
For three years now he has been toting his Stradivarius around the land doing concerts to help local symphony orchestras. He was bubbling with pleasure as he recounted concerts last week in Detroit, St. Louis, and Rochester, N. Y.
A TEASER
"You know the people who gave, me this award tell me I won if for helping music. The money raised didn't hurt music, of course, but they think I help make fans for serious music. People attend a concert to laugh at Benny and they hear some Beethoven and Bach before they get Benny. They find they like Beethoven and Bach and come back to hear it without the jokes."
He endeared himself with a hit of candor unique among performers. He showed some newspapers with front page pictures and said "I enjoy doing this concert stuff for itself. And it isn't bad publicity, either. I could never get this kind of press if I went to Detroit just to do a broadcast."
I explained to Benny that I had a tin ear and was not capable of judging his music. What kind of a violinist was he?
He showed a St. Louis review. The critic wrote, "can Jack Benny play the violin? My answer is 'yes' and 'no.'" Benny said that was a fair description.
TRIES TO TIE
"I think I fool a lot of people with my violin," he added "I play straight. I don't have to hit any clinkers for laughs I can hit enough without trying. But I also have to stay even with the orchestra and finish in a tie. I usually do."
Benny gave a clue as to the seriousness with which he approaches the serious parts of his concerts when he said, "I had to start practicing all over again. I hadn't practiced in 40 years until these concerts came up."
He summed up his violin talent with a quote from his good friend, Isaac Stein, the great violinist. Stern told him, "when you make your entrance in tails and filled with aplomb you look like the world's greatest violinist It's a shame that right after such an entrance you have to play."
When you interview Benny he is pleasant but more often serious than not. He flashes humor now and then but unlike most of his colleagues he is not "on" every second. You gather that he takes being funny very seriously. And that he leaves nothing to chance.
He was enjoying his New York stay—"old friends" — but ample time was set aside to carefully prepare the ad libs for his speech in Washington. I mentioned how young he looked — that has never upset any interviewee I ever met—but he discussed that subject seriously.
HAIR HIS OWN
"I do look young for my age," he said. "That's why I used the gag about being 39. If I looked 65 and said I was 39 it would be macabre. I look about 55 (a modest estimate) and I'm lucky. I do have the feeling I'll wake up some morning and everything will have collapsed and I'll look my age. But, so far so good."
As we parted, he scratched his head and I said, "you're the first Hollywood male star I've interviewed this year who didn't have to lift his toupe to scratch his skull."
Benny grinned. "Print that, he suggested. "A few people think I'm 39. But the whole country is sure I wear a toupe."
He doesn't. His hair, like his talent, wears well.

One of the Flip Cel Flippers

Ub Iwerks was man behind Flip the Frog. Well, unless you lived in one town in Montana. Someone else got the credit there.

Here’s a story from the Independent-Record, published in Helena in 1931.

Townsend Boy Author of "Flip the Frog" Animated Cartoons
Townsend, Sept. 16.—"Flip the Frog" whose antics on the animated cartoons has delighted millions of people about the world owes his popularity to a former Townsend youth, Ben Clopton, son of Mr. and Mrs. Ben Clopton, Sr., of Townsend. The author-cartoonist is at present visiting his home on a much needed and hard earned vacation from the Hollywood artists colony. Mr. Clopton does other drawing but "Flip the Frog" is the one cartoon that will make him famous. He expects to return to Hollywood shortly to continue the activities of "Flip."

To the best of my knowledge, none of the Flip cartoons have the names of any animators on them (aside from Iwerks), so this was a nice little revelation.

The first time I saw Clopton’s name was many years ago watching those blasé Buddy cartoons produced by Leon Schlesinger. I’m always interested in biographical information about the people who worked on the old cartoons, and the world is fortunate that animation historians are, too. Some of them had the opportunity to interview co-workers of ones who had passed away so we can get a better idea of what they were like.

So it was with Ben Clopton.

Clopton was Montana-born and bred. He was born July 22, 1906 in Belgrade to "Rimrocker" Benjamin Ashby (Sr.) and Olivia Clopton. The family moved to Townsend in 1910 where Clopton graduated in 1924. Not many weeks later, he scoped out a job in Los Angeles as an electrician but moved back home and enrolled in university in Missoula. Timothy S. Susanin’s book Walt Before Mickey reveals Clopton went to work for Walt Disney in February 1927. It quotes Hugh Harman as saying “Ben developed this facility under Ub’s tutelage. He was not really as flexible or good as Ub . . . But he was a very excellent assistant[.]” Clopton was one of the Disney animators lured to work for middleman Charles Mintz after lawyers claimed Universal Pictures, and not Disney, owned the Oswald the Rabbit character; Michael Barrier’s Hollywood Cartoons states he left in May 1928. Clopton even got to direct some Oswald cartoons, including (Jungle Jangles and Saucy Sausages in 1929), before Universal punted Mintz and his studio. Barrier’s book gives the impression that Clopton stayed loyal to Harman and Rudy Ising when they signed their deal with Schlesinger to make a series of Bosko cartoons in 1930. Later in the year, he was obviously with Iwerks.

Mr. Barrier’s website features a fine interview with Warners animator Phil Monroe, who gave him some insight into Clopton.

Cal [Dalton] was influenced by an animator named Ben Clopton, who was the studio drunk, but was a goddarned good musical man, and his dances were all funny. He was good in the early '30s, or in the middle '30s, when they were making all those Merrie Melodies, when they used all of the songs. They would give Ben Clopton all of the dance sequences, and he'd get carried away. Say it was a lobster, doing a dance; they gave that to two different animators. They would give the lobster to Ham Hamilton, and Ham would make it look like the best dancer you could ever see, because Ham was probably the best animator that ever worked at Warners. . . .
If you'd give him the same dance you gave Ham Hamilton, Ham would put realism into it, and give you all the clicks. Clopton would give it a lot of bouncy rhythm, and all of a sudden a character would stand on his hands and dance on his hands and click his feet together and fly around—just wild. It was all in good rhythm, but it wasn't dancing, it was just good rhythm stuff. Every one of his dances received good comment; he was known as a good dance man. But he was wild.
The truth of the matter [was], he was drunk most of the time. I used to be his assistant, and I'd come in, and I'd be afraid to be around him, because you could smell the liquor on him. He thought he was a prizefighter, and the story about Ben Clopton is, at our Christmas parties he would always get drunk, then he'd go across the street to the drugstore—maybe to buy more liquor—and get in a fight. Every year he'd meet the same guy, and the other guy beat the hell out of him, and he'd come back. The next year, he starts breathing heavy and getting drunk, and he'd remember that fight he had—"Dammit, I can take him"—and he'd go across the street, and the guy'd beat the hell out of him again. That happened two or three years, and he always got beat up. He thought he was a fighter; he'd come in, and he'd spar around you while you were working. Cal Dalton would not pay any attention; Cal would sit there and work. Ben would sneak up behind Cal, and his fists would be coming right close to Cal, and Cal would just sit there and say, "If you hit me, we're going to have trouble." He never did hit Cal. He loved Cal; he thought Cal was the funniest guy. They really liked each other.
I remember one time in the late '40s that I came out of that studio at lunchtime, and I saw this guy lying in the gutter outside—a common drunk—and it was Ben. In '34, when I started, ten years, fifteen years before that, he was the top-paid animator, next to Ham Hamilton.

Clopton bounced from Schlesinger to Lantz to MGM (when Fred Quimby set up the studio in 1937) to Fleischer back to Los Angeles. Was he working for Hugh Harman Productions then? I have no idea.

His biggest publicity didn’t come from his work in animation but from his divorce in 1945.

Lamarr’s Stand-In Divorces Husband
LOS ANGELES, Aug. 3 (AP).—Sylvia La Marr [née Carmichael], stand-in for actress Hedy Lamarr and Joan Crawford, was granted a divorce today from Ben A. Clopton, rancher, when she testified:
“He kept a loaded rifle around the house. He used to shoot holes in the ceiling. It made me very nervous.”

Judging by the story, Clopton had forsaken animation for ranching. In 1950 he had a home at Arbutus near Clarendon in the Huntington Park area before moving to Santa Monica. His obituary in several newspapers in Montana reveal he returned to Victor, Montana to live with two of his sisters because of an unspecified injury. In 1979, he was moved into the Masonic Home in Lewistown, Montana, where he died of natural causes on November 19, 1987.

The Multi Door Gag

Little Red Riding Rabbit is funny from start to finish. Friz Freleng and Mike Maltese worked together brilliantly on this cartoon (And Friz insisted John Dunn was his best writer. Pfuh!).

Some of the gags are old favourites. There’s the “echo” gag (Bugs echoes what the wolf says). There’s the “keeps singing” gag (the wolf keeps singing after Bugs escapes). And there’s the “multi-door” gag, reused some years later in Buccaneer Bunny.

One thing you can’t get from these screen grabs is Friz’ perfect timing as Bugs goes through various doors, the wolf gets there and then reacts. You have to watch the cartoon.



Bugs going up the stairs for the first time is worthy of frame-by-frame study. I really like the exaggeration of Bugs’ leg for emphasis. The same with how his hand is stretched to open the door.



Bugs has a look of delight through this whole scene. He knows he’s putting one over on the threatening wolf.



Here comes the wolf.



Wolf reaction to Bugs coming out the wrong door.



The wolf looks determined.



The wolf reacts again.



The wolf looks determined again.



The wolf reacts again.



The wolf is angered now. Check out the position of Bugs’ ears and how he leans back in anticipation. Some really fine animation.

Manny Perez gets the sole animation credit in this cartoon. Gerry Chiniquy, Dick Bickenbach, Ken Champin and Jack Bradbury would have been in the Freleng unit as well. It was officially released in 1944 but I found an ad for it in a paper at Christmas time 1943. Exchanges didn’t get worked up about when cartoons were actually shown.

The Cupboard Was Bare (In the Next Frame)

Ub Iwerks cartoons went out of their way to suck out any humour.

Here’s an example from Old Mother Hubbard (1935). You know the lines from the nursery rhyme. Mother Hubbard and her dog go to the cupboard. All there is in the cupboard is a spider.



If this were a Fleischer cartoon, the spider would come out with some kind of non sequitur. Even in a mid-‘30s Friz Freleng cartoon, the spider would say or do something silly.

But no. Not in an Iwerks cartoon. Not even a “Can you direct me to Miss Muffet?” The spider being there is the gag. That’s it. Are you laughing yet?

Below are consecutive frames.



“No bone,” gestures Mother Hubbard. Or maybe “No spider.” Where did it go? It was just there a frame ago. Maybe Ub is jumping into the future (and wondering how fast he can get back to Disney).

There are other spots in the cartoon where it looks like a gag is being set up and nothing happens. However, the dog mouths the word “Damn” twice (this is an Iwerks cartoon after all) and does a weak Maurice Chevalier impression.

Iwerks and his people seem more interested in loading up the cartoon with songs than humour. I love Carl Stalling, but as an operetta, this short is third rate.

The studio was only making these ComiColor cartoons by 1935; Willie Whopper had been kicked out by MGM the year before.

Howard Morris, Crocodile and Comic Genius

What’s Howard Morris best known for? There may not be one answer to that question.

Morris was a second banana with Sid Caesar in the 1950s, appeared on occasion with Andy Griffith in the ‘60s and sat behind a microphone supplying voices for a number of characters created at the Hanna-Barbera studio (until he told Joe Barbera to do something physical which good taste prevents us from repeating) and several other cartoon makers.

None of this includes his career as a director; you’ll see his name on the credits of Hogan’s Heroes. If I recall, he also directed a number of commercials for McDonald’s featuring the big costumed characters.

Howie was over-the-top in a number of his TV roles but he was a Shakespearean actor during and shortly after World War Two.

The “comic genius” label was imposed on Morris by no less than Sid Caesar himself.

Here are some short newspaper columns about Howie. The first one is from the Tarrytown News of February 1, 1956. The typesetter was evidently distracted as it’s missing a line of text. The second story is from King Features Syndicate, published January 15, 1958. Morris has found plenty of guest work, he says. The third piece is from United Press International, December 20, 1963. Morris apparently didn’t find plenty of guest work.

Whether you remember him best as Uncle Goopy, Ernest T. Bass or Jet Screamer, I’m sure you appreciated what a funny man he was. Morris died on May 31, 2005. He was 85.

Howard Morris Had Start As Crocodile Impersonator
By CARYL POSNER
LARCHMONT—Mr. Morris came to tea the other afternoon.
He is the new owner of the spacious Norman stucco home of 17 South Drive in Larchmont's Rouken Glen and his backyard touches ours. His full name is Howard Morris and he's the "little guy" on Sid Caesar's television program.
At tea we chatted of houses, nurses, families (he spoke of his six-week-old daughter, Kim), furniture, the neighborhood baby sitting brigade, and he asked where a good gardener might be found. Even in January, a primary worry of this friendly and neat-looking man was that his grounds most not become unkempt.
His wife, the former Helen McGowan, has been a private detective, a newspaper copy girl and airline stewardess. One of her favorite hobbies is astronomy. Kim's nurse and a cocker spaniel complete the family circle.
Man Of Many Parts
Often called the "man of many parts," the thirty-six-year-old actor is at his best when in disguise — and most charming when in one's living room as himself. The five foot, six-inch pixieish actor has been hiding behind a beard and wrinkles most of his career. However, he is also convincing when portraying a child, a court jester, when poking gentle fun at the suburban commuter, as one of the inimitable "Haircuts," as a lyrical Italian, an emotional Frenchman, a humorous German or aging Prussian militarist — each with a distinctly individual flavor.
A man of great energy, Mr. Morris recalls his role as the old Frenchman in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." At the time he was doubling in television's "Your Show of Shows." From 9 to 9:30 he would appear on the TV show. He would then change, race over to the theater, change again and be seen on stage precisely in time for his 10:10 entrance!
"Following high school I became a runner on Wall Street," he noted, "then and there I made up my mind that business was not for me." He received a scholarship to NYC and began the study of dramatics. He appeared with the Washington Square Players in numerous Summer stock productions, found a niche in radio impersonating crocodiles and lost sheep and was drafted.
Serving in the Pacific theatre from 1942 to 1945, he became first sergeant in Major Maurice Evans' special service entertainment unit (Carl Reiner, third in the Caesar triumvirate, was a private in same unit,), appearing in Evans' productions of "Hamlet," and "Macbeth", both in service and later on Broadway.
The turning point in Howard Morris' career was the beginning of his association with Sid Caesar on Max Liebman's "Broadway Revue". When Caesar later formed his own production unit Howie went along as a member of "Your Show of Shows." The star of the present "Caesar's [MISSING LINE] Morris as a "comic genius whose creative ability makes the 'Hour' tick." Mr. Morris believes that comedy must be based on "real, plausible, everyday lifelike situations and characters," and notes that the current television show tries to attain this.

Howard Morris Is Busy Acting Now
By STEVEN H. SCHEUER
Howard Morris, who turns up as a small-time hood on tonight's Kraft Theater, "Code Of The Corner," makes another appearance on TV later this month on the Patrice Munsel show. In fact, ever since the NBC Version of the Sid Caesar show folded, Howie's been all over the channels.
"I'm doing what any actor should be doing," said Howie. "I'm working regularly. I started as an actor before I became identified as a comic and, now that I'm no longer with Sid, I'm back in the open market again. Working with Caesar, there just wasn't the time or the inclination to look for other parts."
Howie sighed. "It's fascinating to be available."

On the subject of Sid Caesar, with whom Howie had been identified for years, he had only good things to say.
"I think it's very important that he succeeds," said Howie about Caesar's new show, debuting on ABC on Jan. 26, "important to you and to everybody who's been complaining about low TV standards. I have all sorts of admiration for Sid and I might have continued with him, but I just didn't feel I belonged on his new half-hour show."
One of Howie's biggest problems is type-casting. Most TV shows don't even consider him for dramatic roles, continuing to regard him as a comic. He considers a role such as tonight's a break. "But," he reasons, "tonight I'm playing a mob member with a problem. That's why I get bumped off before the end of the show. Now I bet I'll get called for all of TV's corpse work."

Morris Gets Rolling Again In Hollywood
By JOSEPH FINNIGAN
UPI Hollywood Correspondent
HOLLYWOOD (UPI)—Actor Howard Morris is hot, which means he's either running from the police or he's gainfully employed in Hollywood.
Fortunately for Howard, the latter is true. After years of sporadic employment Howard is a sought after commodity in filmland's television studios.
Morris was a sidekick of Sid Caesar on that comedian's old video show. The two worked together nine years until Sid's series went off the air in 1957. Since then, Caesar has gotten a new show. Howard hasn't.
Morris "cooled," as they say in Hollywood, for more than five years. In fact he almost froze.
Howard, who is now directing, acting and writing for such programs as "The Dick Van Dyke Show," "Danny Kaye Show," and Bill Dana's series, recently told about his life in the arctic of show Hollywood.
"THE FACT THAT careers cool and then get hot again for no apparent reason, hot or cold, is quite apparent," he said. "I'm sure that any actor in the business has gone through it.
"I haven't had a steady job since 1957 when Sid went off the air. Now I've got all kinds of steady jobs. I'm working on a long term directing-acting contract with Sheldon Leonard."
Leonard, one-time-gangster actor turned television executive, is partnered with Danny Thomas in a successful production company. Also associated with the firm is Carl Reiner who helped his friend Morris get his career back in high gear.
The two worked together on Caesar's old show and were also in the army together.
Howard believes that his association with Caesar made such an impression on video producers that they didn't realize he was out of work when the show left the air.
"YOU CAN GO around for years with torn bloomers but nobody knows because they're inside your pants," he said. "They assume you're still going."
There are two problems which face an actor shivering in the cool period of his career. He must pay the bills and find some way of getting back into the television and movie game.
Some actors sit around and cry, yell at their personal manager, fire their agent and browbeat their publicist. Morris did voice work in television commercials. "Quite frankly that's what sustained me over the rough times," he said. "Now it's a blessed addition and the residuals come rolling in."
Commercials paid the living expenses. To rebuild the career, Morris spent months as an observer of shows being produced by the Leonard-Thomas Co.
Howard was observing the directors, preparing himself for that phase of video.
But to Morris, heating up a frigid career takes more than just luck.
"If a guy has problems and wants to do something about them he has to pull himself up by his bootstraps," he said, also admitting that it helps to have a few friends around town.

How Rubber Hose Runs

Gerald Mc Boing Boing’s father rushes in a panic to the phone after hearing his son make sound effects instead of speaking words. Because the timing is governed by Dr. Seuss’ rhyming dialogue, dad has lots of time to flail around with his spaghetti arms and legs.



What’s amusing is Gerald Mc Boing Boing was heralded as some kind of new style of animation, but dad stretches like rubber hose, similar to Bill Nolan characters in the ‘20s, though more elaborately.

The animation in this Oscar-winner is by Frank Smith, Willis Pyle, Pat Matthews, Bill Melendez and Rudy Larriva. Marvin Miller voices dad and everyone else.