Smoke Tricks

Porky Pig meets a tough kid smoking a cigar in Wholly Smoke, a 1938 cartoon from the Frank Tashlin unit.

The tough kid pulls off some smoke tricks, creating a target and landing a bull’s-eye; pulling a rabbit out of his hat, and fashioning a duck that flies away.



It’s Porky’s turn. The arrow spears him in the butt and the duck lays an egg on him (writer George Manuell skipped a rabbit joke). Carl Stalling plays “The Merry-Go-Round Went Down” through all this.



Bob Bentley is the credited animator.

The Rubber Hose March

It’s Rubber Hose Time at Disney, something the studio got away from because it wanted its cartoons to look “real.”

In The Barnyard Battle (1929), there’s a 24-frame cycle of a long-legged soldier marching in place while mice stream into a tent behind him.



The only name in the credits is “drawn by Ub Iwerks.”

Fred Allen With Guests Jack Benny and Mary Livingstone

Fred Allen’s guests on Town Hall Tonight on February 26, 1936 were Jack Benny and Mary Livingstone, a number of months before the accidental start of the Allen-Benny feud (at 2 p.m., the billing changes to the Benny-Allen feud).

I considered transcribing the script but thought “28 pages? Are you nuts?”

As I am not nuts, or at least have not been clinically diagnosed as such, I have uploaded a copy of the script for you to read. This is courtesy of Kathy Fuller-Seeley, the Benny chronicler who visited the Boston Public Library years ago and snapped pictures of the pages that were pasted in a scrapbook.

You will see that dialogue has been eliminated. My guess is it was for time, not due to network or sponsor censorship.

In case you’re not familiar with the cast listed marginally in the script, here you go:

HARRY is Harry Von Zell, the jovial announcer whom Allen turned into a comic actor.
JOHN is John Brown, one of too many actors caught in the blacklist in the 1950s. His most popular role was likely Digger O’Dell on The Life of Riley.
JACK until page 13 is Jack Smart, later J. Scott Smart, radio’s The Fat Man. He was typecast.
SMART starts on page 15. See above.
MIN is Minerva Pious, who was Mrs. Nussbaum in the Allen’s Alley segment, which wasn’t invented until 1942.
DOUG is Eileen Douglas, who died in 1938. She doesn’t do very much in this show and disappears after page two.

Charlie Cantor doesn’t appear at all in this week’s show.

Mary shows up on page 12 and Jack on the following page. They take up almost all of what would normally be Portland Hoffa’s spot on the show. They also appear in the sketch later in the broadcast.

The half-hour station break with the NBC chimes is on page 27. As there are only 28 pages, it means Allen pretty much ad-libbed the second half of the programme, which was taken up mainly by his weekly amateur show.

You can click on any of the pages to make them larger.

Joe D'Igalo

You’d like to think people who worked hard through the tedium of animation in the age of theatrical shorts lived to be a ripe old age and in good health.

Some did. Others, not so much. Their minds were intact but their bodies gave out.

That was the case of journeyman Joe D’Igalo, formerly of Disney, Warners, Fleischer and one of the big industrial studios in the Midwest. Boxoffice magazine of January 20, 1969 put out a brief story on his retirement to Carlsbad. He moved to Texas in October.

Joseph Marbelle Igalo (the "D'" was added later) was born in Santa Fe, New Mexico on October 25, 1898. He served in the U.S. Army in World War One. In 1930, he was employed in Chicago as an artist for the Atlas Educational Film Company (he was married in Chicago in 1928). But he decided to try his hand at theatrical work and was hired by Walt Disney. He moved to the Walter Lantz studio and was evidently loyal to Tex Avery. When Tex was hired as a director by Leon Schlesinger, D’Igalo, Virgil Ross, Sid Sutherland and Cecil Surry all left Lantz to work with him at Warners. Surry left for MGM while D'Igalo moved into the Frank Tashlin unit before quitting to work for the Fleischers. He was back in Los Angeles in 1944; the Voters List simply reads “artist.” Within five years, he was back in Chicago.

Ten years ago, I posted D’Igalo’s obit on the Golden Age Cartoon forum. It’s by Judy Gotterer of the Santa Fe Reporter, Aug. 19, 1987. D'Igalo died July 29th. You will see why Disney hired him.

Early last May, Joe D'Igalo touched his paintbrush to paper and stroked in the tiny facial creases in the portrait of a young Indian woman; he dipped his brush again, and the watercolors glided across the sheet in shades of the pale nuanced skies sometimes seen in New Mexico.
Even at the age of 88, D'Igalo was still painting with energy and control, as he had thoughout a long career as an artist and illustrator, a career that included several years as an animator for a friend named Walt Disney. But on May 12, he collapsed in a fall at his home. Though he was not injured in the fall, he never seemed to recover. He was placed in a local nursing home, and there, on July 29, he died of what was termed "natural causes."
Blanche D'Igalo, his wife for the last 10 years of his life, remembers her husband as a man who was "always kind and soft-spoken." She speaks of a near-idyllic marriage, the second for both. Because both were childless, they were able to focus their attention on each other and their hobbies, without the distractions of grown children. And because D'Igalo was retired when they married, the couple enjoyed an easy life together, traveling, gardening and taking care of their home. But before that final tranquil decade, his wife notes proudly, D'Igalo had a full and exciting career.
A native Santa Fean, D'Igalo discovered his artistic talent early, and did some illustrations for The New Mexican, Santa Fe's daily newspaper, as a very young man. He served in the U.S. armed forces during World War I, and when it was over, and he was in his 20s, he left Santa Fe to seek wider opportunities.
He enrolled in the Art Institute in Kansas City, Mo., and while studying there he took a job with the Kansas City Film Advertising Co. A fellow worker was a young man named Walt Disney, and the two struck up a friendship, based largely on their mutual interest in the animation of characters on film.
When D'Igalo graduated from the Institute, he took a job making educational films in Illinois, and in 1928 he married his first wife, Ann Boyd. Then in 1930 Disney offered him a job in Hollywood, and D'Igalo took it. He worked for Disney as an animator, and stayed on for several years, through the production of the historic "Snow White," the first full-length animated cartoon, which was released in 1938.
And of course, reports his widow, "he worked on Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse through the years." In fact, at D'Igalo's 88th birthday party last November, a small family gathering with his brother and sister and their spouses, Mickey and Minnie adorned the birthday cake.
After leaving Disney in the late 1930s, D'Igalo went with Fleischer Studios, then in Miami. He worked there on two other full-length animated films, "Gulliver's Travels" and "Mr. Bugs Goes to Town."
He spent the last 20 years of his professional life, 1949 to 1969, with Wilding Studios in Chicago, making educational films and films used in training by the military services. After his retirement he moved to Abilene, Texas; and in 1976 his first wife died.
In 1977 D'Igalo remarried. For the next several years he and his wife moved from place to place, making homes in Texas, Nevada, New Mexico and Arkansas. Then in 1985 they moved permanently to Santa Fe, because they liked the climate here and enjoyed being close to other family members who lived in the city.
D'Igalo’s life, and that of his wife, during their 10-year marriage, was filled with hobbies: painting, photography, gardening, and astronomy. He loved having a beautiful lawn and flowers, says Mrs. D'Igalo; and only a couple of weeks before the onset of his final illness, the two of them were working in the garden together. And until his final two-month illness, he continued to take photographs of landscapes and of wildlife, and then made paintings from them, often adding images from his mind's eye—a clapboard house, a red barn, a cluster of animals, geese in flight. He also encouraged his wife to begin painting, and served as her instructor—even after his last illness caused him to move to Casa Real nursing home.
D'Igalo's final illness began on May 12, with a fall that occurred just as he was about to begin work on a painting. "He had fallen many times before," his wife recalls, "and had never broken any bones, and he didn't break any bones this time, either. It was as if he had run out of energy."
In addition to his wife, D'Igalo is survived by his sister Stella Schwanke and her husband, Jack, of Santa Fe; his brother Lorenzo Silva and his wife, Julia, also of Santa Fe; and by many nephews and nieces, nearly all in the Santa Fe area.

I’ll spare you a list of D’Igalo’s cartoons; you’ll have to take your chances with the fan-puts-up-data websites. Suffice it to say he’s one of almost countless old-time animators who deserves a little bit of the spotlight.

Danger Mice

Mice are destroying the home belonging to the most casual farmer in the world in Van Beuren’s Barnyard Bunk (1932). The mice are kind enough to post “Danger” sings before they knock down things. And the farmer doesn’t care. He barely moves pulling off a boot and letting a mouse fall out, then pulling off his hat to let a duck fall out.



This has the usual odd Van Beuren nonsense, such as a skeleton in an outhouse and a dancing wheelbarrow. John Foster and George Rufle get the “by” credit. Gene Rodemich opens the score with “I Want To Go Back To Michigan,” an Irving Berlin composition. Billy Murray sang it on the Edison label. Hear Judy Garland’s version below, verse included. (“Wabash Blues” is heard for several minutes after Tom and Jerry enter with their saxophones).

Shuffle Off the Sternwheeler

Let’s get this out of the way. To my thinking, Mike Maltese wrote a Yosemite Sam cartoon for Chuck Jones but because Sam was Friz Freleng’s character, Maltese changed Sam to Colonel Shuffle. And to make the two seem more different, Billy Bletcher was hired to voice the Colonel. He does a fine job of it, too.

There are all kinds of fun (and familiar gags) in this cartoon. The Colonel’s pupils turn to ‘A’s when he sees he’s holding five aces (Bugs Bunny has six aces). There are some stretch in-betweens. And Bugs fools the Colonel at every turn.

Jones shows his masterful direction as barker Bugs keeps a steady stream of patter and action while selling the Colonel a ticket to a show and leads him off the paddlewheeler and into the muddy Mississippi yet again.



Ken Harris, Ben Washam, Lloyd Vaughn and Phil Monroe are the animators with backgrounds by Pete Alvarado.

Before Jeannie

Before she was Jeannie, she was Loco.

Barbara Eden finally thought she got her break when she was cast in a TV version of How To Marry A Millionaire in 1957. She took on the role of Loco that had been Marilyn Monroe’s in the movie.

Things were a little more loco than Eden might have imagined.

Millionaire was not a network show. It was created by syndicator NTA Films, as it tried to expand its reach beyond old feature films and cartoons. Judging by this story from November 8, 1958, it was loco on the tour publicising the show. There seems to have been absolutely no organisation and the actresses were left to run amuck during what was supposed to be an interview.

TV KEYNOTES
3 Girl Stars Offer Hospitality
By HAROLD STERN
Lori Nelson, Merry Anders and Barbara Eden arrived in New York recently to say a few words on behalf of their TV series, "How To Marry A Millionaire." I visited the girls in their hotel suite, spent a good part of the time just ogling asked virtually no questions about the series, and am now firmly convinced that "How To Marry A Millionaire" is one of the television triumphs of the decade.
In this era of unshaved cowboys on dustflecked horses, getting three girls on any half-hour show comes under the beading of windfall profits.
The first sight that greeted my eyes when I entered the suite was Barbara Eden in a form-fitting bathing suit "Ah ha," I though, "those stories I've heard about Hollywood are true, true, true!" No doubt about it, it was a nicely designed bathing suit.
Just Finishing Work
"Please excuse us," said a voice which I turned to find belonged to Merry Anders. "We're just finishing up a picture session."
Looking past Barbara Eden, I was able to make out several other figures, the dumpy sort one usually associates with newspapermen, photographers and press agents.
"Why don't you sit down somewhere?" asked another voice, this one belonging to Lori Nelson. I looked about and, finding no vacant chair, started to sit on a camera case.
"Hold it a minute, Mac," came a voice which could only belong to a newspaperman, "we'll be outta your way." And suddenly they were gone.
Coffee Ordered
"Would you wait just a minute, please," called Barbara Eden, as she dashed out of the room. "I have to change. Have some coffee."
"We're all out," said Lori and she and Merry went to the telephone and called room service.
"Do sit down," said another voice, "I'm Mrs. Nelson, Lori's mother".
This was an unexpected development!
I sat.
Birthday Party
the girls joined me and I opened my mouth to ask a question.
"Could you wait just a minute more?" asked Merry, and she disappeared into the foyer.
"Now what do you suppose she's up to?" Lori asked Barbara.
"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday Barbara and Lori." Merry's voice rang out. She re-entered the room, laden with gifts.
"Ooooh!" shrieked Barbara and Lori.
"Isn't she sweet?" asked Mrs. Nelson. "Lori's birthday was in August. And so was Barbara's." Cake Served
After me birthday cards and gag lingerie had been distributed, Merry turned back to me. "You're being very nice," she said.
How much further this blatant attempt to woo use might have progressed, I'll never know. The doorbell rang and a large table of coffee and serving dishes rolled into the room.
I turned back to Merry, but it was too late. She had vanished, only to return a minute later carrying an enormous ice-cream cake.
"You'll have to join us," she insisted. And she slashed the cake into slabs which resembled paving blocks. I was the only one of the group unable to finish.
"If this is a sample of your diet," I was finally able to ask, "how do you keep your figures?"
I poised myself to launch my interview.
"Girls!" came a sharp voice from the foyer, "you're a half-hour late for a cocktail party!" It was a press agent! The girls arose to leave.

The Marquis Chimps were big on TV in the late ‘50s—Jack Benny got loads of laughs with them—so someone got the idea of pairing Barbara Eden with a chimp. The Salt Lake City Deseret News managed to get an interview with her, explaining how she came to act with a chimp on TV after signing a movie contract with 20th Century Fox. A chimp didn’t help the sitcom careers of both Peggy Cass and Ted Bessell. It didn’t help Eden’s. Millionaire lasted 1½ seasons before NTA gave up on filming new episodes.

TV’s ‘Loco’ Wants High Comedy, But Gets Monkey As Co-Star
BY HOWARD PEARSON
Deseret News TV Editor
Barbara Eden, better known as Loco Jones on How to Marry a Millionaire, wants to do high comedy, but she'll appear in an episode with a trained monkey first.
The trained monkey bit has already been filmed and will be seen within a few weeks. Barbara has several movies behind her and she is now haunting producers to give her broad comedy. “Comedy doesn't have to be completely shallow,” she declares, “It is best when colored with pathos.
"Like my own experience in Hollywood," she says, "comedy comes where it's least expected. For instance, when I came to Hollywood from San Francisco, I was loaded with letters to prominent movie executives. They all saw me and gave me friendly advice.
“Most of this boiled down to ‘You’re too nice a girl for tough show business. Why don’t you go home.’ Not one of them offered to let me read a line. That’s comedy to me now, comedy mixed with the pathos of a girl struggling to get ahead.”
Barbara thought she could make enough as a singer in Hollywood. “I soon discovered this didn’t work out because there were too many singers,” she says. “So I took a job in a bank after hours. I’d haunt the casting directors during the day and operate an IPM machine in the bank at night.
Her first plunge into show business came as a dancer in a night club. “I didn’t know how to dance, but I stumbled through it for five months before the producer found out I couldn’t dance. Then I was fired. However, I’d met show people and was able to land some jobs.” She did 14 Johnny Carson shows, some episodes on Private Secretary, West Point, Highway Patrol and several others.
While doing parts in the movie, "Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?" she tested for the TV Millionaire series and landed the part that Marilyn Monroe played in the movie
When she gets several episodes ahead on Millionaire, she is able to do movies. Forthcoming pictures in which Barbara appears are "A Private's Affair," with Gary Crosby, Christine Carere, Terry Moore and Sal Mineo, which she says is comedy, but not as broad as she wants, and “Blue Denim,” a drama.
Like Merry Anders and Lori Nelson, her co-stars on Millionaire, Miss Eden says: "I'd want no part in marrying a millionaire. With all his money he could get dates with all the girls he would want, and I want to be Queen Bee." True to her word, she did not marry a millionaire. At least he isn't yet. Her husband is Michael Ansara of the late Cochise series.

Five seasons as TV’s favourite genie awaited her, a genie who couldn’t show her belly button. We think that’s a little loco, too.