Makeshift Stone Age Gun

Dinosaur Dan, the first Texas Bad Man, runs out of bullets. No matter. He uses his finger to fire at the posse chasing him.



It’s not exactly one of Tex Avery’s most stellar gags.

The First Bad Man was released by MGM in 1955, well after Tex’s unit was shut down by the studio. Walt Clinton, Ray Patterson, Mike Lah and Grant Simmons are the credited animators, while future Flintstones designer Ed Benedict came up with the model for these characters.

Good Night, Joanie

Jack Benny had a little message at the end of his broadcasts when he was out of Los Angeles in the late ‘30s-early ’40s.

“Good night, Joanie,” he would say.

It was a private recognition of his little daughter Joan, listening back home before being put to bed.

Little Joanie passed away last Thursday, a week before her 87th birthday. She and her father both succumbed to pancreatic cancer.

Joan grew up in the spotlight, with movie magazines running feature stories about the Benny family when she was a child. Her first wedding drew huge press attention, mainly because her father spent and spent and spent some more on it, in contrast to his radio character. She stood in for her mother in the end days of the radio episodes, and even appeared on the radio and TV shows. No doubt fans are rushing to video sharing sites, re-watching her and her dad on Password in the early ‘60s.

She is probably best known as what they used to call an “authoress” by taking her father’s memoires, adding her own memories, and compiling “Sunday Nights at Seven.” She remarked that she didn’t think it would be popular because she had nothing bad to say about her father. But she loved him very much, and so did fans, who snapped up copies as soon as they came out.

Jack Benny died December 26, 1974. Joan, naturally, was one from whom reporters at the time wanted to hear. She was featured in a story from the Philadelphia Inquirer of January 14, 1975 that was syndicated across the U.S.

My thanks to Bill Cairns for use of the photo of father and daughter.

Jack Benny's Daughter, Joan, Recalls Life With Dad
By ELAINE TAIT
Knight Newspapers Writer
PHILADELPHIA, Pa.—"Daddy had the greatest enthusiasm about everything. We used to laugh at him. He would say something like 'this is the greatest glass of water I have ever had in my life' and mean it."
Joan Benny Blumofe smiles a lot when she talks about her father, the late Jack Benny. But there are times when tears well up suddenly in those lovely, expressive eyes.
Joan was in town this past week to tape a Benny tribute for a Jan. 24 Mike Douglas show. She was adopted by Benny and his wife when the comedian was 40 and she was an infant. Despite the age difference, she and her father were very close, she says.
Both were baseball fans and they haunted the stadium where the Hollywood Stars played. They shared an enthusiasm for classical music, something that in the last 20 years of Benny's life, became more important than his comedy work according to Joan.
Despite his reputation as a comedian, Benny wasn't a funny father, Joan says. "He would tell us jokes he had heard at the club then explain why a certain story was funny even though you already knew why."
As an example of this "unfunny" characteristic Joan recounted the time she told her father a story she thought was funny. She got to the punch line and drew a blank look from Benny. "I said 'that's the story Daddy,' and he said 'oh'," Joan recalls.
"So I said, 'let me try again.' Again, nothing. Two hours later we were talking about something else, he said 'That was a great story.' And he then explained to me why it was funny.
"I wish I could be more like him," Joan says. "He had no guile. No ulterior motives. Mother was the stronger person. She would tell him to look out for someone she suspected was trying to use him and Daddy would listen. But he was never convinced.
"Daddy couldn't care less about clothing. Mother saw to it he was dressed properly. He might wear purple socks if Mother didn't supervise. He didn't understand status dressing like Gucci shoes."
Like father like daughter.

Joan, who is 40 but looks younger, says she dresses in jeans and wears virtually no makeup. For the Douglas show, she wore a denim pantsuit that de-emphasized her petite, feminine prettiness.
Joan, who was slightly nervous about doing the Douglas show, (she left show business to raise a family of four), says her father was always nervous.
"Really talented people always are," she says. "He worried about everything as far as his profession was concerned but I thought he hid it well."
Benny doted on his first grandson, Michael, Joan's son. He took the boy everywhere, to Expo in Montreal and to one of the early space launchings.
"He was always recognized. I think he was unhappy if he wasn't. He and Bob Hope once compared vacations which each other had taken to get away for some peace and quiet. When he wasn't recognized in two days he came home," Joan says. "He hated it. Bob said he had the same experience.
“He was a great visitor, popping in on friends. He loved to walk. That's not unusual anywhere but in Hollywood. I drive to the corner to mail a letter.
"He was a pushover as a father," Joan says, and her eyes begin to mist. Records show she isn't exaggerating. When she was married at 21, the man whose comedy reputation had been based on being a skinflint, gave her a wedding that was estimated to cost from $25,000 to 150,000.
Asked to share special memories, she remembers how every week when she was three or four. Benny would take her for an excursion through the Calif. countryside. "He'd always say that the car wouldn't start until I gave him a kiss." There's a pause and a visible effort to regain composure.
"I don't know yet what I can talk about without crying," she apologizes as she rushes off to the Douglas taping.
The explanation is unnecessary. A whole country will know how she feels.

Another Background Gag Mystery

Painting sets for cockroaches probably isn’t very satisfying. Especially if you don’t have the full spectrum of Technicolors because Walt Disney has them exclusively.

That’s the situation that was faced by whoever did the backgrounds for The Lady in Red, a 1935 Friz Freleng cartoon.

There’s a nicely-drawn establishing shot to open the short, and we get a lunch counter to set the mood. The other shots below are pretty lacklustre.



Ah, but we have hidden gags by the guy who loved sticking references to Tubby Millar and his hometown in background objects. They are littered in a bunch of Merrie Melodies and all have the same style of lettering. It was either Griff Jay or Elmer Plummer. My wild guess is Plummer.

First, cereal made in Portis (and packed by Tubby Millar). Note it’s patented in 1934.



Next, Tedd Pierce’s black olives. Perhaps he used them in his martinis.



Not just cereal! Tubby has laying hens, too. In a throwaway gag, a cross-eyed roach keeps looking the wrong way.



Here are two similar backgrounds but different. One has the cake cups manufactured by “The Millar Co.” The other has them by “The Coleman Co.”



Another Coleman reference.



We’ve talked about Coleman before. Don Coleman’s name and address were in a phoney phone book in Buddy the Detective (1934). At the time, we mentioned the Los Angeles City Directory for 1935 listed his occupation as “cartoonist.” It’s the same in 1936 and 1938. In 1933, it says “artist” and he is living at home with his parents.

A detective is what’s needed to solve the mystery of who Coleman was. He can be found in the 1930 City directory, which reveals he was born in Montana and was 19 years old. His name pops up in the “Junior Times” section of the Los Angeles Times of June 12, 1927 where young people sent in cartoons and other art. Besides Coleman, future animators mentioned in the column were Hardie Gramatky (Disney), Manuel Moreno (Lantz), Leo Salkin (Mintz, UPA), Phil De Lara (Warners) and Bob Stokes (Harman-Ising) with a drawing by Cal Howard (various studios).

His picture is in the Loyola High School annual of 1928-29. The Los Angeles Evening Express of February 1, 1930 mentions he is at Los Angeles Junior College as assistant art editor and a later edition reveals he was taking commercial art, designed the college seal and was illustrating a book called “Rum-Tum-Tummy.” A drawing of his of Loyola’s coach appeared in the October 3, 1930 Los Angeles Evening Post-Record.

I have no evidence his cartoonist job was at the Leon Schlesinger studio, but it would seem most probable.

What happened to him? Other than some Times stories involving events at Catholic schools, his name is in the 1940 Census—living in a jail. Why? I haven’t been able to find out, but it’s him without a doubt. He appears twice in the 1920 Census as well, in Lewiston City, Montana, and San Diego, but his first name is given as “Dominick” (side note: Don Pardo’s first name was actually “Dominick”). With that information handy, we find a WW2 Draft Card for Charles Dominic Coleman now residing with his mother at Tuxedo Terrace in Los Angeles, unemployed. He was born October 15, 1910 and died in San Diego on August 16, 1958, having served as a corporal in the U.S. Army during the war.

The song “The Lady in Red” is a Mort Dixon/Allie Wrubel composition that was first peformed in the 1935 feature In Caliente with Dolores Del Rio and is heard in 14 Warners cartoons, the final one being The Windblown Hare (1948). The music when the parrot is being chased is “Comedy Excitement” by J.S. Zamecnik.

Jim Tyer is Cat Happy

Was Jim Tyer on catnip when he animated Cat Happy? There’s a scene where Percy the cat is twisted into all kinds of shapes when he orders Little Roquefort to put the cheese back in the fridge.

But he goes even crazier when Percy sniffs some catnip balls. These are just some of the drawings. Only Tyer would do this.



There are others equally as bizarre but we’ll leave it at that. If you have a video file of the cartoon and you’re a Tyer fan, you must stop-motion this scene.

Fans of the Terry Splash™ will be pleased it shows up about five minutes in. And we get another one of the jerky saxophone marches by Phil Scheib.

Put On Your Old Grey Bonnet

The pairing of director Friz Freleng and writer Mike Maltese worked so many times, including the 1944 cartoon Little Red Riding Rabbit. In one scene, Bugs tricks the wolf (Billy Bletcher) into singing “Put on Your Old Grey Bonnet.” The wolf really gets into it in a funny way, and Bugs adds his silent commentary.



There's another knock at the door and one of those sweat takes.



Clueless Red Riding Hood (Bea Benaderet) continues to shout the lines assigned to her from time immemorial. Except she has trouble remembering them. The wolf slams the door on her.



The wolf resumes his enthuiasic singing and bopping up and down. There’s another sweat take when he realises Bugs is gone.



Manny Perez is the credited animator, but Jack Bradbury, Dick Bickenbach and Gerry Chiniquy animated this, too, I suspect. This is a great cartoon from start to finish. The Maltese family told me the “TA HAVE!” shouted by Red during the cartoon came from Mike’s little daughter Brenda, who used to say the same thing.

Klemperer Klinks

A Jew playing a Nazi? That’s just what Werner Klemperer wanted to do.

He did it more than once, too. We think of him as his role as Colonel Klink on Hogan’s Heroes, though it’s difficult to think of the incompetent commandant as a true-blue follower of the Führer. He’s more interested in status via the military, so the “heils” are simply part of the job.

However, Klemperer played a far more nefarious leader in the Reich. Here’s the story from newspapers of March 19, 1961.

Son of German Jew Gets Eichmann Role
By KAY WAYMIRE
Hearst Headline Service
HOLLYWOOD, March 18—Even in improbable Hollywood, Actor Werner Klemperer seemed the least likely to get the role of Adolph Eichmann, the Nazi whose mission was the extermination of the Jew.
He is the half-Jewish son of conductor, Otto Klemperer, who escaped from Germany as Hitler rose to power, and lost everything save his family and his great talent.
There were three things, however, that helped Actor Klemperer win the title role, in "Operation Eichmann."
He is a seasoned actor; he bears a striking resemblance to Eichmann and he wanted the part.
SOUGHT ROLE
"I went after the role," Klemperer explained as a make-up man proceeded to “age” him for scenes of Eichmann's later years.
"It is, of course, an actor's challenge. Then, too, I wanted to be a part of a picture that could serve as a reminder of the horrifying world we lived in — a world that mustn't be permitted ever again.
"A good picture about the real Eichmann and his times could serve as a lesson for school children in today's Germany. I understand that in many classrooms there, that portion of German history being conveniently skipped.
REMEMBERS PREJUDICE
As a child in Berlin, Klemperer remembers the schoolyard jibes he suffered. He remembers, too, being uprooted from his homeland in 1933, when his father took the family—Werner, his mother and sister—first to Switzerland and then Vienna.
The elder Klemperer came here to become conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Two years later, he was joined by the rest of the family. Outwardly, Werner grew up an American youth — was graduated from University High School, the Pasadena, served a hitch in the Army. He’s married, has a son, Mark, 1, and lives in a Tudor cottage in Westwood.
DEEP ANGER
But his reaction to the Nazis in general and Eichmann in particular is far deeper and more personal anger than most Americans feel. His blue eyes turn cold when be speaks of the man who now awaits trial in Israel for the murder of millions.
"Above all, I want to play Eichmann as he really was — and is," said Klemperer. "I see him as a thinking human being who was fully conscious of what he was doing.

Hogan’s Heroes debuted in the fall of 1965. CBS made fun of the show in its on-air promos featuring Stan Freberg and Bob Crane talking about how a POW camp is loads of laughs. It was loads of satire instead. Klemperer’s Klink wasn’t truly bad; he never harmed or even threatened the prisoners. He was the embodiment of Allied propaganda during the war—that the Nazis were inept and would ultimately lose. And they lost in every episode.

Here’s a syndicated story from March 4, 1966. The first three paragraphs are an ignorable attempt at humour, the rest is Klemperer commenting about his role and career.

Character Actor Likes His Colonel Klink Role
By HARVEY PACK
NEW YORK — The first time a soldier sees his top sergeant out of uniform he does a double-take as if seeing the man for the first time. In fact, a good sergeant can use his civvies as a cloak of anonymity because he is so closely identified with the military in the eyes of his men.
And so it was with that miserable Nazi Werner Klemperer who came to New York, put on a fashionable sport jacket and slacks and tried to pass himself off as a California tourist looking over the sights in the big city. When I first entered the restaurant he completely fooled me with his cunning smile and continental charm.
But like every German spy he made one mistake which instantly gave him away — he ordered a German beer. I was fumbling in my pocket for a nickel to call the FBI (who needed a dime during the war) when the waiter arrived with the German beer we had both ordered and suddenly I was too thirsty to make the arrest. Werner professionally epitomizes the arrogant Nazi but, like most actors who have made their mark in the business as villains, he is an extremely likable man. He was first choice for the role of Adolph Eichmann in "Operation Eichmann,” his Nazi war criminal in "Judgment at Nurenberg,” was a masterpiece and his portrayal of Col. Wilhelm Klink, commandant of the prison which houses CBS’ "Hogan’s Heroes,” is the pivotal role in a series which pokes fun at something which many Americans still do not consider a laughing matter.
Klink Is Real
“Klink is a real person,” explained Werner, “although I do not consider Sgt. Schultz, his assistant, to be real. Where Schultz is a beautifully played comedy caricature. Klink must be believable even while being constantly duped by the prisoners. It's quite simple . . . if both the Germans were pure comedians there would be nothing laughable about the clever antics of Hogan and his men.”
Naturally, this theatrical Nazi was born in Germany where he lived the good life since his family had money. But like so many of our celebrated film members of the Master Race, he left the Fuehrer’s leadership in the early 1930s when his Jewish father wisely sensed the inevitable future under the Third Reich. Wemer's father is the noted conductor Otto Klemperer who, as head of the Berlin State Opera, was able to leave Germany and come to America with a world famous reputation and an assignment as conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic.
‘‘You know what the first thing I remember about America was?” asked Werner who was barely a teen ager at the time. ‘‘We left the ship in New York and I was fascinated by the big globs of gum stuck between the cracks on the sidewalk. It’s funny . . . but I’ve never forgotten that.”
No Ambition To Conduct
It took a tutor only three months to teach Werner and his sister Lotte enough English for them to qualify as students at University High School in Los Angeles. After graduation Werner enrolled at the Pasadena Playhouse, although he admits he still wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be an actor.
I asked the famed conductor’s son if he had ever considered following in his father’s footsteps. When he denied such ambition I tried to learn why he spent two hours on the plane coming east listening to classical music with his eyes closed while waving his hands in the air pretending to be the great Otto Klemperer.
"Who told you that,” he laughed. "It must have been Robert Clary.” I was forced to admit Werner had made a good guess since Clary, one of Hogan’s men and a close off-stage friend of Col. Klink’s had revealed Werner's secret ambition.
“Of course I am well versed in classical music having been around it all my life. But one does not simply say . . . ‘I want to be a conductor’ and then pick up a baton and conduct. You know whether you have such talent in you, and I never for a moment honestly considered such a career.”
For Werner a trip to New York to publicize the show was a real bonanza since he started his acting career in the big town and loved every inch of it. “I shall waste no time while I’m here sleeping,” he explained.
“Last night my wife went to bed at one a.m. and I told her there’s plenty of time to sleep in California. I love good conversation and somehow I think it’s easier to find conversationalists here than on the coast, particularly if you don’t want to talk about the business.”
Klemperer loves being associated with a comedy, particularly since it’s a hit, and he looks forward to each working day as most of the regulars in the cast are the kind of people whose company he enjoys. Since Klink is something of an anti-villain, Werner is not hated by the show’s fans and he even gets his share of comedy lines in the scripts.
The strength of Werner’s characterization was emphasized for me that evening when I ordered my 9-year-old daughter to do her homework or no television. “You better watch your step,” she shouted as I pushed her toward her desk, "or I'll have you sent to the Russian front.”

Klemperer was respected by his peers, nominated for an Emmy in each of the six seasons the show was on the air. He won twice. He was later nominated for a Tony for a revival of Cabaret. Klemperer was 80 when he passed away in 2000.