The Life of Mrs Paul Terry

It’s a question that, no doubt, has crossed your mind time and time again: What’s it like to be Mrs. Paul Terry?

Wonder no longer.

The answer can be found in the Larchmont Times of September 7, 1939. It interviewed her about her life. Mrs. Terry leaves one with the impression that she engaged in what wives of men in a certain higher income bracket did back then—a lot of clubbing with other women in a similar station in life, and superficial dabbling in the arts. It was not a taxing existence. Still she seems to have a been a well-intended, socially-minded person.

To show you how times have changed, the article was written when the social protocol was to refer to a wife by her husband’s name. This is why nowhere in the story is her first name mentioned; she is called “Mrs. Paul Terry.” In thinking about it, this must have changed around the time of the women’s liberation movement in the ‘60s. Anyway, Mrs. Terry’s first name was Irma.

You may wish to chuckle about the reference in the story that Mrs. Terry had a recipe for a cake. It’s doubtful she stepped foot in the kitchen. At the time, the Terrys had two live-in servants, Myron and Annie Trottie; the husband was a chauffeur/butler, the wife was a maid/cook.

Unfortunately, the copy of the newspaper on-line is faded and some words are unintelligible.

Irma Terry was born in Hungary on July 5, 1900 and died in Rye, New York on January 7, 1969 after approximately six weeks in hospital. Paul Terry was still alive, his former studio had ceased operations.

Wife Of Paul Terry Met Him When Both Were Cartoonists
By VIRGINIA COX
“My husband's work to me is one of the most fascinating occupations I can imagine," said Mrs. Paul Terry, wife of the inventor of the Terrytoon cartoons. “I probably am so enthused over it because I used to draw and love art."
It is apparent that Mrs. Terry is an artist although today her entire interests center around her home and family. She is a delightfully natural person, void of all the superficialities that often come with prominence. She has a mind that grasps rather at the beauty of life than at the sundry passing fancies. Her life is full and as she says she enjoys every minute of it.
Before Mrs. Terry was married she was a cartoon designer and even after her marriage she continued her work. From her childhood on she was interested in art and when she grew up attended the Academy of Design in New York. Her ambition in life was to be a poster artist.
Her First Employment
“I shall never forget my first position," said Mrs. Terry. “One of the department stores in New York advertised for an errand boy to do commercial art. In my great desire to get ahead and be an artist I applied for the job. The employer, needless to say, was greatly amused and hired me. However I didn't have to run errands, but modeled hats and drew jewelry for the advertising department."
Shortly after this Mrs. Terry did free lance work and drew many posters for neighborhood theatres and later took up cartooning. It was while doing this that she met Mr. Terry.

“I sometimes feel that I shouldn't give up drawing," Mrs. Terry said, “but there seem to be so many other things to keep me busy. 1 read a great deal and am greatly interested in autobiography Someday I should like to write a book."
Short story writing and poetry interest Mrs. Terry. She admits that she has a flair for memorizing selections from notable works such as Shakespeare and Shelley and regrets that if you asked her the recipe she used last week in making a cake she would have to refer you to the cook book.
“This seems strange to many people, but I think it is just the difference in the workings of one’s own mind," explained Mrs. Terry. “I always am able to remember perfectly the things that make the greatest impression on me whether they are important or not.”
Several years ago the cartoonist’s wife attended Columbia School of Journalism and also took a writing course at the New Rochelle Library. She has written a great many short poems most of which are used on place cards and personal messages.
“I have written several serious types of poem," she said, “but none of them have I thought of submitting for publication.
This Winter Mrs. Terry is planning on learning braille in the hope that she will be able to write some books for the blind. At the present time she is greatly taken up with her ten-year-old daughter. Patty, who at her early age has shown a remarkable ability for acting.
“One evening last year." said Mrs. Terry, “when we were having dinner, Patty stood up and recited long sections from 'Snow White.' Of course Mr. Terry and I were amazed at the beautiful manner in which she gave the interpretation. Some of our friends later heard her and she presented it at an entertainment given by her dancing school."
Nothing Too Difficult
“This ability of hers," continued Mrs. Terry, “manifests itself in many ways. Both she and my husband will tackle anything Nothing is too difficult for either of them. Patty makes masks and costumes for the plays which she writes and produces. She and several of her friends have a club room above the garage where they do all their work. She also helps her father by speaking children's parts in his cartoons."
Being an only child, Mrs. Terry feels that she cannot give her daughter enough attention. She says that she and her daughter are best friends. The fact that Patty has no sisters or brothers seems to make her more self sufficient," explained Mrs. Terry. “She is never lonesome and always is able to amuse herself. I guess it is my part to play neither sister and brother.

Fifteen years ago Mrs. Terry remarked they moved to 115 Beach Avenue Larchmont, from New York. “A group of artists, including Herb Roth, the ghost writer of the Timed Soul cartoons, decided to move up here," she stated. “We were going to form a colony of our own. All of us thought we would buy a large piece of property and build the type of home on it that we desired. Even that might have been perfect if one had not wished to live in the [], one in the valley, and one by the water. It goes without everyone moved where they wanted and our little colony was never formed."
The Terrys, according to Mrs. Terry, have kept their old friendships and made a great new close associates. "People of [] types fascinate her but most of their friends are artists.
“Artists understand human nature," she retorted, “perhaps better than anyone else for they are in such close contact with it. The artist puts himself into each experience and is anxious to get the most out of everything. I have noticed in particular that he is not anxious for wealth but for amassing the beauty of the world in all his endeavors."
Likes To Entertain
With a deep fondness for being with people, Mrs. Terry entertains a great deal. She believes the best way for having a good time is to let your guests do exactly as they wish and not worry whether or not they are enjoying themselves.
“Young brides," says Mrs. Terry, “go to all kinds of trouble over company and the result is usually that everyone feels uncomfortable. I have learned that the freer people feel the more they enjoy visiting me."
This understanding woman knows as much about cartooning as her husband and spends many evenings discussing his work with him. She says the process of making a film cartoon is in many ways the same as producing a feature picture, including preparation of story, music scoring and building of sets with this important difference: The story is sketched instead of being written, the sets are drawn by an artist instead of being built on a stage, and the actors are all drawings instead of human beings. . . thus the players will perform as the artist's mind sees fit and there is “no display of temperment."
It is easy to see why this thoroughly satisfying person gets so much out of life because she never considers anything more important than people who contribute the joys and sorrows to it.

Another Ball of Dogs

The Bosko cartoon Big Man of the North (released by Warner Bros. in 1931) is a rehash of the Oswald silent short Ozzie of the Mounted (1928) made by Walt Disney.

Animator and friend-to-all-animation-fans Mark Kausler points out it even includes the same “ball of dogs” gag.

Here is the version by Disney’s people (who pretty much were the same people who worked on Bosko).

Wile E. Fox

Wile E. Coyote wasn’t around in 1939, but his expressions were being refined by then.

Chuck Jones has a fox character in Robin Hood Makes Good who grimaces at the camera just like Wile E. would do more than a decade later.



Jones was big on side glances, even early in his career (this cartoon was apparently his third directorial job). Here’s an example when the fox tries to chomp down on a squirrel but gets only daisies instead.



If anyone think Jones’ Good Night Elmer drags, it has an excuse. It’s a cartoon about sleep. This cartoon looks like it’ll never get moving with that extended “Who’ll be Robin Hood” sequence opening things. Berneice Hansell and Margaret Hill Talbot are heard on the soundtrack; I think Talbot is two of the squirrels but it’s hard to tell.

The Thief of Bad Gags

How long did Milton Berle have a reputation of stealing everyone else’s material?

Years before he went into television.

Back in the days when Ed Sullivan was a Broadway columnist, he wrote about it. Here’s a chunk of his New York Daily News column of August 19, 1932.

Berlesque
HE swears it's true, and I have ever found young Milton Berle to be an honorable and truthful man, so we will run it here and let you be the judge.
"At 3 o'clock, yesterday morning," says Milt, "I was passing the Palace. Right ahead of me a drunk was staggering along. At 46th St. he stopped at a letter box, and he stopped so suddenly that I bumped into him. 'Give me a penny, buddy,' he mumbled.
"I'd just been paid at the Capitol, so I gave him a penny. Deliberately he dropped it into the letter box. As the penny dropped out of sight, he looked at the hands of the Paramount clock, bleary-eyed, and squawked: 'How d'you like that? I lost twelve pounds since I weighed myself here last night.'"
About Mister Berle
ADVERTISING experts might be interested in studying the strange case of Milton Berle. His experience on Broadway, since he made his debut not long ago as a vaudeville comedian, apparently proves that there is no such thing as bad advertising. The old gag, "Say any thing at all about me so long as you spell my name right, is proved to be a fact.
As a matter of record, Berle owes his success, like the first Ford car, to the ridicule which other comedians have directed at him. They've panned him so much and kept his name so persistently in the limelight, that the youngster can thank his attackers for making him. Chief complaint against Berle has been that he has "stolen" material from other comedians. He has been described as a composite picture of Jackie Osterman, Ted Healy, Ken Murray, Bert Lahr and Jack Benny.
The witty Osterman expressed this best when the promoter of a certain benefit asked Osterman to bring along a lot of acts. "I could bring five comedians," cracked Osterman, "but Berle is playing at the Capitol."
Every comedian in town has coined gags about Berle, none of them complimentary, but all serving the one definite purpose of keeping his name alive. As a result, the youngster is going along great. His ingratiating personality appeals to the audiences and, right now, he's sitting pretty with an Earl Carroll contract for the next "Vanities."
Broadway, which is violent in its likes and dislikes, has been torn asunder in attempting to determine whether this kid is a great comedian or a flash in the pan. In the meantime, and because of all the excitement, the youngster is working every week while the layoffs stand in front of the Palace and coin jokes about him.

Sullivan’s story was hardly a revelation. In 1948, columnist Jack O’Brian wrote about an ad placed by Irving Brecher in Variety during the Depression when the future screenwriter was still an usher: “Berle-proof gags for sale—so bad, even Milton Berle won’t steal them.” Berle ended up not stealing them. Instead, he hired Brecher to write for him.

It seems odd there would be any debate today about whether Berle would be a flash-in-the-pan. But who was to know in 1932 that the alignment of the stars in the entertainment universe in 1948 would shoot Berle to huge popularity. He had been signed by Texaco for a radio show that it moved over to television. Networks were finally operating in prime time Monday through Friday, though the majority of the few TV stations then were in the eastern US. Berle’s video brashness captured the growing audience.

Let’s jump almost another 50 years. It’s November 6, 1996.

‘There's Only One Milton Berle’
So say his admirers in a gag-filled tribute to the TV pioneer
By Frazier Moore
Of the Associated Press
NEW YORK—MILTON Berle faces a room full of people in tuxes and gowns. He thanks them for coming and for bestowing on him this, his zillionth honor. Then he recalls that he was in this very Manhattan banquet room a year ago.
"But not to entertain," he says, teeth bared in his rabbity grin. "It was for a seminar. A seminar on premature ejaculation. I left early."
At age 88, Milton Berle just won't quit. In his astringent, blaring voice, he goes on to recount an exchange between "two guys over 90," one of whom is recently remarried. No, the man admits, his bride is hardly a looker, she can't cook and she's none too great in the bedroom.
"So why did you marry her?"
"Because she drives at night!"
With some 20 minutes of such gags and shtick did Berle return the favor, as the New York chapter of the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences recently gave "Mr. Television" its first Lifetime Achievement Award.
Attendees, each of whom had paid several hundred dollars to pay homage, heard Berle lionized by New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani, former "Golden Girl" Bea Arthur, even-older-than-Berle funnyman Henny Youngman and who-knew-he-was-funny Hugh Downs, who made special mention of Berle's generosity.
"Earlier this year, I had surgery for double-knee replacements," Downs said. "Milton Berle was my donor."
Then veteran comic Joey Adams weighed in.
"There's only one Milton Berle," he declared. "I found that out by looking in the telephone directory."
But dust from ancient jokes like that had no time to settle. There was too much to unearth from Berle's long career.
He played an infant in silent films and modeled as the Buster Brown Shoes kid. He headlined in nightclubs, made a few films and had several radio series.

But the real reason for this Emmy gala, the real reason for Berle's unshakeable status as a legend and a pioneer, came down to a pivotal phase of his hamsmanship that began long ago, when Harry Truman was president, but which barely lasted into Dwight Eisenhower's second term.
These days, "Mad About You" and "Something So Right" occupy NBC's 7-to-8-p.m. Tuesday slot, just as lots of shows have lighted there in seasons past. But no one has outright owned that TV hour, or any other, like Berle, who on Sept. 21, 1948, became host of the "Texaco Star Theater." And an instant sensation. Berle brought with him the boisterous, anything-for-a-laugh tradition his vaudeville years had taught him. Then he delivered it to the public en masse, as if by magic, on their television screens.
Maybe vaudeville was dead, but "vaudeo" was born.
Successful? Early on, about three-quarters of all TVs were tuned to Uncle Miltie on Tuesday nights. By comparison, last week's top-rated series, "E.R.," won about 16 percent.
Granted, the total number of TVs was minuscule in those days. There were only a half-million when Berle went on the air; today, the number of homes with at least one TV totals 97 million.
But if Berle's reach seems picayune by today's standards, his impact helps account for why TV is everywhere today. It was Berle who lit the fuse. Back then, he guaranteed viewers something irresistible to watch, and gave everyone who didn't own a TV a powerful incentive to buy one (by 1951, when his show's popularity crested, almost one in every four homes had acquired a set).
Meanwhile, his riotous acceptance demonstrated to other, more chary entertainers that TV was the Promised Land after all.
"From Burns to Benny to Gleason, they asked me at first, 'What are you doing this for?' " Berle tells a reporter.
"I said, 'Well, we gotta go with the progress.' I'm proud of having the guts, or whatya call chutzpah, to be the first one to jump into TV and take a shot." But it's more than that and always will be, which is why Milton Berle is worth remembering (as if he would ever let us forget).
It's why he's Mr. Television. Berle does nothing less than help explain TV for all of us who watch it.
He helps explain the viewer in us to ourselves.

Milton Berle may have been adept at stealing gags, but he didn’t steal fame. He created it on his own.

Outhouse of Tomorrow

A joke about post-war pre-fabricated housing opens House of Tomorrow (1949). The hands of (presumably) narrator Frank Graham open a little package.



Cut to a wider shot.



“And there it is! Modern in every respect!”



Up pops an outhouse.



Jack Cosgriff and Rich Hogan helped Avery gag this one.

Turnaround

Woody Woodpecker realises he’s lost his dime in Bathing Buddies (1946). Here he is turning around, one drawing per frame.



Paul J. Smith and Bernard Garbutt receive the animation credits on screen but this scene is by Emery Hawkins. Read more here.

Royal City Benny

Mobs of fans and Canadian military members came to see Jack Benny broadcast his show from Vancouver in April 1944, but that wasn’t his first stop when he arrived in British Columbia to raise money for the Victory Loan drive.

Two days before taking the stage at the old Forum, the Benny gang gave a performance in New Westminster.

Even then, it was an easy drive or interurban trip (the two cities are maybe 10 miles apart downtown to downtown) for people from the Royal City to go to Vancouver for a show. But evidently the local Victory Loan Committee decided a stop in the former colonial capital was a good idea (New Westminster has been overshadowed by the newer, larger city for decades).

The show in New Westminster was a smash, according to the following account in the Vancouver’s Province newspaper of April 21, 1944. Actually, there were two appearances, as Mary Livingstone skipped the first. You can get an idea how much Jack was loved in the southwest corner of Canada.

(The photo above was taken at a performance in Vancouver and is courtesy of the City Archives. Read about it in this post).

RADIO STAR IN SHIPYARD RUSH
JACK BENNY STORMS ROYAL CITY
5000 Admirers Give Comedian Big Hand at Victory Loan Show
NEW WESTMINSTER, April 21.—It must have been just like old times for Comedian Jack Benny here Thursday when the comedian staged a Victory Loan show, complete with a genuine Maxwell car, chauffeured by Rochester...just as he has done many times on the national radio. He even played "Love in Bloom" on his violin.
To the lusty cheers of some 5000 admirers, Benny, Rochester, Phil Harris and other members of the troupe arrived at the New Westminster City Hall aboard the ancient Maxwell. Mary Livingstone, feminine lead in the troupe, did not attend.
WELCOMED BY MAYOR.
They were officially welcomed by Mayor W. M. Mott, who introduced Don Wilson, announcer. A speech by Wilson was followed by an informal act by Jack Benny in which he "kidded" the crowd and his own assistants, spoke briefly to the Victory Loan, and finished with his famous violin solo.
Wavy-haired Phil Harris sang a "jive" song, and later introduced Rochester and his cigar. He received an ovation from the crowd as he stepped up to the microphone. The dusky comedian told several stories, mainly at the expense of his boss.
Girls' Bugle Band from the Duke of Connaught High School played several selections.
Thousands In Rush At City Shipyards
All available guards were pressed into service to protect Jack Benny and his troupe when they appeared before several thousand workers at a Vancouver shipyard and at Dominion Bridge Co., Burnaby, Thursday.
So great was the rush to see Benny and his troupe when they approached the flight deck of an aircraft carrier that two girls were trampled and received minor hurts.
Guards were required to form a ring about the famous troupe in order to protect them from the wildly enthusiastic crowd of some 3000 to 4000 shipyard workers and navy personnel.
GETS CHOICE SEAT.
An added touch to the hilarity of the scene was the appearance of one shipyard worker who took up a position on the swinging "hook" of a giant dock crane in order to obtain a clear view of proceedings.
Following his show, Jack Benny made an urgent plea for greater-than-ever support of the Victory Loan. Benny told workers and others that he had come to fully realize the importance of such loan campaigns from knowledge gained first-hand at the war fronts.
Mary Livingstone was presented with a bouquet of roses and iris by a woman worker.
RUSH FOR AUTOGRAPHS.
Similar precautions were necessary to protect Benny and his company from the welcome of about 1500 employees of Dominion Bridge fabrication and ordnance plants attending the second personal appearance show. With 50 per cent, of the audience women workers, there was a frantic crush for autographs and only swift action of guards in helping the visitors to leave quickly after their performance kept them from being mobbed by the crowd.
AT UNITED SERVICES.
Civilians and members of the armed services—500 strong—waited outside the entrance of United Services Centre Thursday night for arrival of Jack Benny, Mary Livingstone, Rochester, Bill Harris [sic] and Don Wilson.
Inside, a uniformed throng of 2500 thundered their approval of the air waves and screen celebrities.
Applause followed each as they went into their routines with the servicemen going "wild, simply wild" over Phil Harris.
Mink-coated, diamond-bedecked and stunningly gowned Mary Livingstone presented a picture and friendly smiles and merry laughs.
Screaming for more, the crowd forced the troupe to overstay its schedule, demanding encore after encore.

Paul Frees

What does Larry Mitchell, Crime Correspondent, have in common with Baron Otto Matic of Tom Slick?

They’re both played by Paul Frees.

Mind you, that applies to an awful lot of characters on radio, TV and films. Frees even played himself; a radio station hired him for a late-night show for a little while in the early ‘50s.

In 1949, Frees landed starring parts on two shows—the aforementioned Crime Correspondent and then the title role in The Green Lama.

Frees was already catching the attention of columnists in the late ‘40s. This appeared in the Ottawa Citizen on May 29, 1949.

Here's a young actor who recently won two important radio awards in one week—one of which named him as the "outstanding supporting player of the year"—and still scarcely anyone, outside the business, knows who he is.
Did you ever hear of Paul Frees? Remember the deep, ominous voice of the narrator on "Suspense"—the guy who gives you the shivers as he introduces ". . . a tale well calculated to keep you in—Suspense!" That's Paul Frees.
Remember the hilarious Peter Lorre impersonation on Spike Jones recording of "My Old Flame." That's Paul Frees, too.
Frees is, in a sense, a victim of his own versatility—for he has so many voices that he has no single identity. Described by Spike Jones as "one of the greatest impersonators in the world," he has simulated the voices of virtually every celebrity you can think of, from the late Franklin Roosevelt to Sidney Greenstreet. He does every dialect known to human speech, and often takes several roles in a single production."
"It's fun," says Paul, "but I'd rather be a star."
If radio performers ever start electing their own stars, you can bet that Paul Frees' name will be high on the marquee—a thought which should be some consolation.

Cartoon fans know Frees from all kinds of places. In the theatrical world, he was hired by MGM, Walter Lantz and Walt Disney. On television, Jay Ward, Hanna-Barbera, UPA and Rankin/Bass found animated characters for his voices. Oh, and Format Films. Oh, and those Beatles cartoons. Oh, and... well, it’s probably easier listing where he didn’t work than where he did. This isn’t including animated commercials.

Let’s not bother with lists and move on to an unbylined article that appeared in a bunch of newspapers in 1961; I spotted this in papers published in August through November.

Paul Frees has never been able to follow the parental dictum that he be seen and not heard.
In fact, Paul is the talkingest man you're likely to meet and he's seldom seen at all.
One of the group of performers known as "voice men," he's virtually unknown outside casting offices and advertising agencies, yet there's hardly an adult in the United States that hasn't heard his voice.
Paul figures he's played in 15,000 radio shows, more commercials than he can count and currently, he's the voice of Professor Ludwig Von Drake on "Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color" and of Boris on "The Bullwinkle Show," both on NBC-TV. Of all the roles he's played, he likes Professor Von Drake best.

"Walt Disney gave me a lot of liberty in portraying the professor and I've made him more personal than any of my other characters," Paul says, resisting a temptation to slip into the German dialect he uses on the show.
"The professor is bright, good natured, has a sense of humor and is marvelously absent-minded at times," Paul adds. "But he has character. He's always driving at something and he's not beyond scolding you for lack of attention."
A German dialect like the professor's is just one of the things Paul carries in his bag of voice tricks.
"I can duplicate any voice and any dialect I hear," he says, confidently. Besides, he says he can deliver three or four versions of each of the common dialects and, in one feature picture, "A Time to Live and Time to Die," he took the speaking parts of 17 different German characters.
So good is he at voice duplication that he did the voice "stand in" work for stars like Orson Welles and Humphrey Bogart and once, he says, did a half hour radio show for Bogart when the actor couldn't make it.
Radio listeners will remember him as the voice of the old "Suspense" and "Escape" shows and TV viewers have heard him as the voice on “The Millionaire” series, among other shows.
Paul began training for his unusual profession when he went into vaudeville at the age of 13. Along the way, he's been a singer, dancer, nightclub emcee and impersonator. His impersonations paved the way for his present voice work.
Last year he won nine awards at the Commercial Film Festival. Those, he added to more than 100 others he's won over the years.
Paul has literally talked himself to success and, although he's a competent TV actor, he's happy right now to go on being heard and not seen.
"Sometimes it creates an ego problem," he admits, "but nothing so serious I can't overcome it when I look at the bank balance."

Frees had some great cartoon roles (Boris Badenov, Ludwig von Drake) and some mediocre ones (Charlie Beary, Squiddly Diddly) but he always gave a top performance and that’s why fans still love his work, even today.

Radio Ruckus

Sonny isn’t impressed with snoozing dad listening to Mendelsohn’s “Spring Song” on the radio and changes the station to get a screaming-type Gangbusters show. Suddenly dad isn’t sleeping any more. Here are some of the drawings as he jumps from his chair. Some are animated on twos, others on threes.



The kid isn’t happy.

The animation’s reused in the same scene when an off-screen phone rings.

This is some of the gentle humour in the propaganda cartoon Meet King Joe, an industrial short by the John Sutherland studio. This was one of the Sutherland cartoons that MGM put on its release schedule after disbanding its Lah-Blair unit, no doubt in a cost move.

The Sutherland cartoons were slickly made. There are some stylised backgrounds in some scenes; building outlines over a flat colour. Former MGMers like George Gordon and Carl Urbano were at Sutherland when this was made but there are no credits on the short. Bud Hiestand is the narrator but I don’t know who is voicing Joe, though it’s a Hollywood radio actor.

Your 1930s Opera Reference For the Day

Frank Tashlin’s You’re An Education (1938) seems to have been made solely to see how many cultural and musical puns can be shoved into one cartoon.

Perhaps the most obscure one today is the one involving a man singing in front of a travel poster for Tibet.



It is opera star Lawrence Tibbett. Yes, the accent’s on a different syllable, but a pun is a pun.



There’s been some kind of edit before this scene takes place. You can hear part of a note on the soundtrack as the picture fades out and then the first note of whoever is doing the Tibbett singing is faded up.