Ub Moves Along

It was 1936. Ub Iwerks was in trouble.

Iwerks’ Animated Pictures Corporation in the Rees Building at 9713 Santa Monica Blvd. had one cartoon series in production, his ComiColor shorts that Pat Powers’ Celebrity Pictures in New York was releasing on a states’ rights basis. And there were no plans to stop.

In fact, there was talk of expansion. Film Daily reported on February 26, 1936

In addition to a fourth series of ComiColor Cartoons already planned for 1936-37, P. A. Powers will expand the activities of his Celebrity Pictures by producing a new cartoon series based on the Gene Byrnes newspaper strip, "Reg'lar Fellers", under a deal made by Charles Giegerich of Celebrity. Both series will be produced under the directorial supervision of Ub Iwerks.

And on April 28th:

Under present plans Celebrity proposes to produce a series of six "Reg'lar Fellers" cartoons in addition to a fourth ComiColor series, but it has not yet been decided whether "Reg'lar Fellers" will be in black and white or in color. The ComiColors will continue to be processed in Cinecolor.
The last ComiColor cartoon on the current schedule of Celebrity Productions is now in work, with completion expected far in advance of original listing.

But Powers wanted more control. This story appeared on May 18th:

The P. A. Powers ComiColor Cartoons and the new series of "Reg'lar Fellers" cartoons for 1936-37 may be made in New York instead of Los Angeles, according to new production plans being considered by Celebrity Productions. Harry A. Post, vice-president of Celebrity, is en route to the coast to confer with Cartoonist Ub Iwerks on the practicability of moving the entire animating plant to New York or the advisability of separating production, with the new "Reg'lar Fellers" series to be made in New York while the ComiColors would continue to be produced at the Beverly Hills studio.

It would be easy to speculate that Iwerks refused any changes and Powers pulled the financial rug from under him in response. But we do know that the ComiColor series ended and Animated Pictures Corporation closed its doors. (Composer Carl Stalling told author Mike Barrier he was only out of work for a few weeks before he went to Warner Bros. on the recommendation of Bugs Hardaway).

As for “Reg’lar Fellers,” one cartoon was made and released as a ComiColor short. It was titled Happy Days. Some extra expense was involved as child actors were hired for the parts.

I don’t know who was employed at the studio at the time, other than Stalling and animator Irv Spence, but here are some frames from the climax scene where Pinhead wrestles a big fish that he has caught, or caught him. The animation is very good; I especially like the multiples and expressions, though this public domain DVD makes them hard to see. The director made an odd choice to leave the foreground action in place while suddenly changing the background to include another boy.



Happy Days was released September 30, 1936. And that was it. Kind of.

Iwerks found himself in the subcontracting business. Charles Mintz hired him to help fill the Columbia release schedule, so Animated Pictures reopened and made Skeleton Frolics, which was released January 29, 1937. How long Iwerks had the contract is unclear, but the trade papers reported he directed these cartoons for Mintz (I’ve included several listed in Leonard Maltin’s Of Mice and Magic):

Merry Mannequins, released March 19, 1937
The Foxy Pup, May 21, 1937
Spring Festival, August 6, 1937
The Horse on the Merry-Go-Round, February 18, 1938
Snowtime, April 14, 1938
The Frog Pond, August 12, 1938
Midnight Frolics, 24, 1938
The Gorilla Hunt, 24, 1939
Nell’s Yells, June 30, 1939
Crop Chasers, September 22, 1939
Blackboard Revue, March 15, 1940
The Egg Hunt, May 31, 1940
Ye Olde Swap Shoppe, June 28, 1940
Wise Owl, December 6, 1940

One wonders how he and Mintz got along, for it was Mintz who went behind Walt Disney’s and Iwerks’ back to hire virtually the rest of their staff and take over the Oswald release for Universal from them.

Ub also had a deal with Leon Schlesinger which saw him supervise Porky and Gabby, released May 15, 1937 and Porky’s Super Service, July 3, 1937.

The book “The Hand Behind the Mouse” says Ub was running behind on the Porky cartoons, so he up and quit in mid-May 1937. Bob Clampett took over as director the next day, walking right in to Iwerks’ studio, sitting at Iwerks’ desk, and using Iwerks’ animators (the operation was moved back to the main lot about a month later). Later in 1937, another angel came forward to set him up in a business. Motion Picture Daily reported at the end of the year:

Hollywood, Dec. 13. — Backed by British capital represented by Lawson Haris and having release contracts in Great Britain already signed with the newly formed British Independent Exhibitors' Ass'n, Cartoon Films, Ltd., a new corporate setup for Ub Iwerks, this week started production of 24 color cartoons depicting Lawson Wood's famous Collier's Magazine cover ape, "Gran'pop."
The Beverly Hills studios of the company increased its capacity and is using RCA sound. Haris is president.
"Gran'pop's Busy Day" will be the title of the first picture.

Evidently the cartoons took some time to complete. A year later, Film Daily of December 19, 1938 reported three of the cartoons had been made. They were apparently the only ones that were finished. The Hollywood Reporter of the same day blurbed:

Earl W. Hammons [sic] has closed a five year contract with David Biederman for a series of animated color cartoons to bear the Educational trademark and be distributed through Grand National. Funny Ole Monkey and His Chimp Nephews will be starred in the Biederman Productions, to be directed by U.B. Iwerks, and produced under contract with Animated Cartoons, Inc., Beverly Hills. Eight cartoons will be released the first year, with 12 to be made each season thereafter.

The following day, the paper added:

Animated Cartoons, Inc., will start on its first subject for Grand National release immediately on signing for a color process, several of which are now being considered. Shorts will be under the direction of Paul Fennell. The company will make 12 one-reel shorts for five years.

Fennell later took over managing the company, which also made animated commercials.

(A side note: Billboard of January 25, 1939 noted “Jacques Press signed to compose and score [t]he music for a series by Animated Cartoons, Inc.”).

“The Hand Behind the Mouse” says the Gran’ Pop characters were different than anything else Iwerks had worked with and were difficult to animate. As for his work for Columbia, Iwerks simply got tired of animation and wanted to move on. He accepted a paltry $75 a week from Ben Sharpsteen and rejoined the Disney Studios on September 9, 1940.

Ub went on to invent new developments for film, was handed Oscars, and historians started examining Pat Powers’ belief in 1930 that Iwerks was the true brains behind Walt Disney’s success. That’s not altogether correct, but Iwerks is now recognised for being more than someone who was a top artist in the late 1920s.

Buzz Buzzard Take

Buzz Buzzard is apparently talking to us but all we hear is unintelligible noises that don’t match the mouth movements at the start of Wet Blanket Policy (1948). I can only guess this was done so we can hear the lyrics to the “Woody Woodpecker Song,” added to the soundtrack at the last minute according to the internet.



The scene is animated by an uncredited Pat Matthews. He hears a sucker coming. Here are some frames from the take.



Walter Lantz’s cartoons were being released by United Artists at this time and until the money dried up, they never looked better. Disney’s Ken O’Brien is credited as an animator on this short, along with veteran Les Kline. The great Fred Moore, Ed Love and La Verne Harding (as well as Matthews) were also providing top animation for the studio. And Lantz had the great fortune to hire Lionel Stander, who gave lots of villainous expression to Buzz Buzzard’s voice. Within a year, the money ran out and the studio shut down, with most of the talent scattering away for good before it re-opened.

Today's Forecast: Funny

California’s weather became a tired subject for radio comedy writers in the ‘40s. And in cartoons, too.

In Half-Pint Pygmy, George is reading the paper while Junior is playing jacks. Junior leans in to read the headline.



The paper jokes about the frequent rain in California, which Californians (and radio comedy writers) of the day denied.

George’s attention is caught by the pygmy and the dollars to be made from his capture. Here are some of George’s expressions.



In this 1948 cartoon, Tex Avery borrows an idea from Porky in Wackyland (1937), with the hero going to Africa to capture something for a huge reward. (His version of Wackyland showed up The Cat That Hated People, also 1948).

Louie Schmitt, Walt Clinton, Grant Simmons and Bill Shull (all ex-Disney) are the animators. Pat McGeehan is George. I don’t know who’s playing Junior.

Laugh-In No. 100

Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In was running out of steam by the start of the 1971-72 season. The show had taken some old vaudeville jokes, married them to nudges about the current counter-cultural (the satire wasn’t very biting), tossed in some catchphrases, and edited them all together at a quick pace. But that was in 1968. Since then, there had been changes in the cast, and a growing animosity between the stars in the title, the executive producer and the head producer.

A “100th show” seemed to be a good way to hearken back to when the show was beating Lucy in the Monday night ratings and getting a pile of publicity.

The first story comes from the King Features Syndicate, October 28, 1971; the second from the Los Angeles Times News Service, November 1st.

Laugh-In Has True Grit and John Wayne
By CHARLES WITBECK
HOLLYWOOD (KFS) —Taking a tip from Ralph Edwards, who lives off reunions, Rowan & Martin's "Laugh-In" celebrates its 100th comedy hour Monday by bringing back the show's first guest, John Wayne; Tiny Tim, a first-season headliner, and graduates Judy Carne, Henry Gibson, Jo Anne Worley, Arte Johnson and Teresa Graves. Goldie Hawn is among the missing, as the old-timers hobnob with the current crop.
In planning the reunion hour, Dan Rowan and Dick Martin considered giving the kids a day off to make room for the alumni, but producer Paul Keyes felt it was better to intermingle. The idea of an anniversary show compiled of highlights from the past was also rejected as something to be saved for future use. "We're not ready for that," explains Dick Martin, a man who saves show tapes and occasionally reruns one for reference. "The show has changed, but we’re not aware of it. Our first special looks slow now in comparison. Things we didn't like—the outdoor stuff, for example, didn't work."
The idea of Dick Martin filing show tapes amuses because his style is from the old saloon act which never had anything down on paper. Discarding jokes in the early stages, Rowan & Martin mined the free association field, and their bumbling detective act, or the drunk bit which began as a parody on Laurence Olivier and changed to Richard Burton, varied from night to night as straight man Rowan would lead off and watch Dick Martin's mind wander. The technique worked in clubs, at benefits and on television, though no one believed the act wasn't carefully set line by line. As long as straight man Rowan had an ending or something else to move on to, he didn't worry. Guest spots on television did present a problem because of the time limits, so the two had to plan more while still allowing leeway for ad-libs.
"Remember the Ed Sullivan Show in Berlin," said Dan to Dick recently, recalling one of his panic moments on the air. "Ed had asked us to build an act around Gina Lollobrigida, and when we arrived after flying tourist, there was a note under our door saying Gina had cancelled. We're left with zilch. The next morning, I was searching for something to use when Dick here says brightly, 'Let's go look at Berlin.' Well, Dick buys German binoculars — he has to have them — and we spent the day as tourists while I worry. That night Dick borrowed a couple of cameras from a guy in Louis Armstrong's band, and he walked out with the binoculars, the cameras, and an awful hand-painted tie, smiling like an idiot. I take a deep breath and say, 'Here we are in Berlin'. . . We winged it all and were a smash."
This doesn't quite happen on the stars "Laugh-In" spots, which total around 300 now. Every week, Dick and Dan huddle with writers working out ideas, but they insist on keeping it loose and free. Last fall, the two let the writers do it all for a while, then resumed control when the softness became apparent. "Producer Paul Keyes loves to watch us work," adds Dan, "but he doesn't realize you can't plan it. Writing out line by line ruins it."
"I like to wander," says Dick with that silly smile, "but we cut it short on the show. We have to." Asked if the art of wandering, or ad-libbing, or free association can be taught, Rowan said no, but felt one could lay down some guidelines.
"You watch Arte Johnson or Larry Hovis get into a character and lock themselves in. Jonathan Winters is great at it, and Buddy Hackett has total free association. He can take off and go for hours. It's a question of belief."
"Comedy actors are good at it," adds Martin, "but not comedians who are trained on jokes."
The sight of John Wayne working from nine in the morning to eleven at night for scale, mixing it up with the "Laugh-In" alumni and the current undergraduates, makes the old saloon boys like kings of the mountain on show number 100.
"This business narrows down to one thing — clout," says Dan Rowan. "And clout means having the power to do what you want. Dean Martin and Greg Garrison gave us that clout by allowing us to do their summer series, and after that, the networks let us do our thing. After 17 years on the road, we knew what we wanted, but before that I don't really think we were ready. Our timing was also right, and now I think it's time for something else in television."

Return of Keys, Spurs Laugh-In
By CECIL SMITH
HOLLYWOOD—I dropped by a taping of “Laugh-In” last week. They were doing their Christmas show and were in a quandary.
Dan Rowan had put them there with the question: “What four people have been on every one of the first 100 shows?” Including, of course, the recent 100th anniversary show.
Dick Martin, playing Spiro T. Cratchett, tried to answer: “Well, Dan and I have been on them all. And Ruth Buzzi. And. And, and, and . . .”
He cleared his throat. “If it wasn’t,” he roared, "for the ranting of the radical rabble and,” eyeing me, “the perversions of the prevaricating press, I might remember.”
“I don’t know how you remembered that line,” said Dan.
“All I know is it wasn’t me, said Carroll O’Connor. He was playing Ebenezer Milhous Nixon to Martin’s Cratchett. “This is my first show.”
Paul Keys followed his pre-Castro cigar in. He explained the White House had called. On another show, this might be an event; on “Laugh-In,” it’s routine, such is the closeness of the association between the President and his one-time aide and permanent court jester Keys.
O’Connor put on his Archie Bunker voice and said: “I hope Mr. Nixon won’t be upset by this fun were having with him because I wouldn’t want no trouble wid the President!”
Paul shrugged. “He thinks it’s funny.” He thought about it. “I hope he’s right.”
Ruth Buzzi wandered in. She wore an orange bathrobe with a blue felt hat squashed over her ears. She was eating French-cut green beans out of a Jolly Green Giant can. She knew the answer.
“Gary Owens!” she cried, triumphantly. “He’s out back with his can of beans!” She whispered to me: “After another 100 shows, we get plates.”
Ruth did her Gladys to Arte Johnson’s Tyrone on the anniversary show. Judy Carne was drenched with water again; JoAnne Worley’s bugle laugh was heard; Henry Gibson recited a poem. Teresa Graves made it, but not Goldie Hawn; she declined. Even the first guest star was back: Tiny Tim. And one of the first “cameo” stars: John Wayne.
“The Duke,” said Keys, “called us and asked why the hell he wasn't invited to be on the show. He really broke the dam for us. After the Duke, everybody wanted to do it.
“I'll never forget the Duke's first appearance. Henry Gibson had done one of his flower poems called ‘Jackass.’ Then the Duke came on tarrying a flower, like Henry, and said ‘The Sky by John Wayne. The sky is blue, the grass is green, get off your butt and be a marine!’”
Any guests they’ve never been able to get?
“Liz and Dick,” said Dan, “but I think if they’d been here, they would have done the show. Cary Grant we never got.”
He and Keys did an historic exchange with Grant which went: “Do you know Laugh-In?” “Yes.” “Do you watch it?” “Yes.” “Do you like it?” “Yes.” “Will you do it?” “No.”
“Laugh-In” led the pack in the ratings race through its first three years, but dropped sharply last season. This fall, the ratings have been better, which Rowan and Martin credit to the return of Keys.
Paul, formerly head writer, left the show, not without bitterness, to produce specials, notably the John Wayne epic “Sing Out, Sweet Land.” He has plans for another special with the Duke, one to be filmed across the nation.
The return of Keys was a major part of the highly publicized dissension between “Laugh-In’s” stars and executive producer George Schlatter. Dick Martin says it is not only Paul’s skill at jokes that makes him valuable but his exuberance which infects the whole company—“the show is fun to do again, a million laughs.”
He was by now in cutaway and striped pants doing a bit with Ann Elder as his bride and Dan as a priest. Said Dan softly; “Before we start the ceremony, would you like to zip your fly?”
Martin began to laugh. He couldn’t stop. Every time they tried to tape the scene, he broke out laughing. Director Mark Warren came down from the booth to say the bit set a new “Laugh-In” record, 17 takes to get a 30-second scene.
Well, at least Dick proved his point.

Laugh-In carried on for one more season. George Schlatter tried reviving it but it failed. Bits of the original are on video sites for anyone that wonders what the fuss was about. It was a fun show, but time marches on.

Widdy Widdy Widdy Widdy Da Wah

I have no idea what the title of this post means. They’re lyrics in Willie Whopper’s Robin Hood, Jr., made by Ub Iwerks and released in 1934.

Willie/Robin shoots an arrow at a target on a tree. Bull’s eye! And like those strength test things at the circus, the cylinder shoots up the wire and rings the bell. The tree grows a face. A bird in a house attached to the tree hands the tree a cigar, who gives it to Robin.



Grim Natwick is the credited animator, and is responsible for the Betty Boopish girl character.

Wise Quackers Take

The basic principles of animation are at work in these consecutive frames from Wise Quackers, a 1949 cartoon from the Friz Freleng unit at Warners.

Here’s a Daffy take. Anticipation and then the extreme.



There’s a great scene of Elmer’s two pet dogs jumping over, and banging into, each other. Afraid the references to slavery (and joke about blindness) will keep this short on the shelf.

Pete Burness joins Friz’ regulars: Manny Perez, Ken Champin, Gerry Chiniquy and Virgil Ross. There’s an inside reference to layout man Hawley Pratt in Paul Julian’s background at the end.

Next Stop, Kokomo

Phil Harris may have been born in Indiana and sponsored charity work there until his death, but his old boss Jackson helped benefit the state, too.

In 1966, Jack Benny appeared at Starlight Musicals in Kokomo, when he broke the theatre's existing attendance records by drawing 28,863 people for seven performances. His benefit concert with the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra in November, 1960 helped launch the symphony's endowment fund program, earning for it $35,000 in one concert.

The local paper in Kokomo put up two stories on its Sunday page on July 31st after the Benny (and entourage) performance. His featured singer was Wayne Newton, who was no unknown. He had a couple of hits on the charts that radio stations played for years. Still, Newton was almost reverential in his appreciation for Benny’s boost to his career; see Joan Benny’s book “Sunday Nights at Seven” for more.

There’s a happy coincidence in the second story as the writer and Jack share some things in common. I have been unable to determine when Benny played the town in vaudeville. And it’s a shame we’ll never know the story about his visit that he couldn’t print.

Benny Does Expected; Starlighter's Happy
By MARSHALL PITLER
Sunday Show Writer
Everyone knew what to expect. He's done the same thing for the past 40 years. But still Jack Benny had the largest opening night audience of this Starlight Musicals' season in the palm of his hand.
And he could not have let go, even if he wanted to. The Jack Benny Special was a guaranteed success.
There is a magic quality about Jack Benny which rivals nothing in the history of show business. This ageless wonder could recite the Gettysburg Address to 100,000 people, and the result would be hilarious.
Yes, everyone knew what to expect. The Benny Stroll, stance, stare, the gags about his money and age. Nothing was new, except the material, which was timely and in good taste.
Benny coordinated the entire show. He introduced the acts, was the brunt of his own routines with several well-timed interruptions, and actually hypnotized the audience with a very well-paced, fast running two and a half hour show.
One of his interruptions he did not plan. A light plane flew overhead, so Benny took advantage: "Darn! I hate it when they see the show for nothing."
Certainly, everyone knew what to expect. Benny had to play the violin. After threatening to play for almost his entire act, he finally did—and it wasn't "Love In Bloom." He caught us off guard by playing "The Bee" by Beethoven, [sic] and he did it quite well.
Benny delighted his audience by mixing among them collecting money in a tambourine in exchange for kisses from the gals. One gentleman even gave him green stamps, and by golly, he kept them.
Further attesting to his showmanship was Benny's selection of his co-star, Wayne Newton.
This humble, explosively talented young man added a clever balance to the show as he delighted his -fans with such numbers as "Rock-A-Bye," "Bill Bailey," and two of his hits, "Red Roses," and "Danke Schoen."
Although firmly established in the record industry, night clubs, and television, there is no end in sight for this six foot, two inch talent machine with the choir boy voice.
It was his stroke of fortune that his voice never changed; for it gave him the "gimmick" which is so important in the wildly competitive show business. This young man never stops working. Even when singing a ballad, his entire body seems to be keeping time with the music. He plays the trumpet and banjo with great zest, and much to the planned objection of Benny, he handles the fiddle pretty well, too.
Newton borrowed a page from Judy Garland's book of success by doing one of his numbers in the audience while grabbing the hands of his excited fans.
A delightful surprise was the first stage appearance of Doris Dodge, a very attractive little 10-year-old blonde from California. Under the pretense of asking Benny for his autograph, she then goes into a comedy routine with him. They also play several duets together.
A perfect show opener was the amazing juggling of the Rudenko Brothers. They performed some extremely difficult routines with ease.

Jack Benny Has Magical Touch With Audiences
Editor's Note: Sunday Show writer Marshall Pitler squeezed his way backstage at Starlight Musicals last week to gather impromptu interviews with Jack Benny and Wayne Newton, stars of the Jack Benny Special. He jotted down these impressions of the stars.
By MARSHALL PITLER
With the exception of pretty, 10-year-old Doris Dodge, her teacher, and her family, no one was waiting outside Jack Benny's dressing room at Starlight on opening night.
Of course, there was a reason. Guards weren't letting anyone backstage. But the power of the press was evident, because my wife and I passed through the guards. When Benny emerged from his dressing room, I introduced myself as representing The Kokomo Tribune. He smiled broadly and said, "Kokomo, Indiana. Why I worked a theater in Kokomo 40 years ago when I first started in this business."
I jokingly told Benny that I was returning a visit to his opening night in Indianapolis, since he was in my opening night audience in Heidelberg, Germany, when our 84th Infantry Division opened our Army show, "It's All Yours."
I was shocked when Benny remembered the show. "Why sure, it was 1945. I was doing a show with Ingrid Bergman, Shep Fields, Larry Adler, and Martha Tilton," the comedian said.
By this time, everyone was relaxed, and we all behaved like old friends. Jack Benny was working his magic again. Just as he does with his audiences, he made us feel perfectly at ease.
Benny was thrilled with the Starlight audience. He beamed as he said, "I can tell by that long applause, at the end of the show. They really like it." When I told Benny that the Kokomo Civic Theater presented “George Washington Slept Here,” he was highly amused. Benny played Newton Fuller in the film version of the play—the same role which I portrayed last spring.
As he left, Benny said, "Say hello to everyone in Kokomo for me, and remind me to tell you a very funny story about your town the next time I see you. You won't be able to print it though." I hope it won't take another 21 years to hear that story.
Wayne Newton's manager Tommy Amato told us that several years ago, he worked several Indiana cities, including Kokomo. He was playing in a night club trio.
Of course, this was before his association with Wayne Newton. He said he would like to bring Wayne to Kokomo for a concert sometime next year, if possible.
Newton, who earned his first $5 bill at the age of 6, is a country boy with good "up-bringin." He is polite, gracious, and very humble. He told us of his initial success in Phoenix, Ariz., which led to his own television show.
Las Vegas bookings followed, and then came his big break—his debut at the Crescendo, in Hollywood.
He and his brother Jerry have always worked together. Jerry is slightly older than 24-year-old Wayne. He is an excellent guitarist and adds a great deal of good-natured ribbing during the show.
Jerry told us that he and Wayne are building their bachelor "dream house" in Las Vegas.

Death to Terrytoons

Terrytoons died because the dollar signs didn’t add up.

The Saturday morning cartoon business was huge. In the late 1960s, CBS was buying shows from Hanna-Barbera and Filmation. That’s even though CBS had its own cartoon studio. And the company let it die.

It made no sense. CBS should have easily created its own Saturday morning shows, maybe even selling them to other networks. But, instead, it let its Terrytoons studio wither away. Reader Andrew Lederer points out the studio was sold in 1971 to CBS' former Viacom division.

The studio had been creating TV cartoons in the early ‘60s. It invented Deputy Dawg as well as the insufferable Luno, the flying horse. But soon everything was shut down.

The Daily News in Tarrytown, New York looked back at the studio in a two-part feature story that ran on January 4th and 5th of 1973. Here it is below. We presume the author used a pseudonym.

Terrytoons' departure ends an era
First of two articles
By DICK TRACY
It was 63 years ago that Gertie the Dinosaur first flickered across the American consciousness.
Since then innumerable one-dimensional lions and cats and insects and dogs and nonsense creatures, as well as people, have entertained and influenced generations of movie goers and television watchers.
Millions of drawings on paper and celluloid have gone into building an art form and an industry which is now a vital part of the 20th century imagination.
LAST MONTH, in New Rochelle, what was an important chapter in the development of animated cartoons was brought to a close.
Terrytoons, which had operated there since 1934, closed down its Centre Avenue studio and moved its headquarters to offices in Manhattan.
The move out of Westchester County comes following a fall-off since 1969 on production by the company, which over the years created such one-dimensional stars as Mighty Mouse. Heckle and Jeckle and Deputy Dawg. It also marks the end of the only remaining complete animation studio on the East Coast.
"If our production of cartoons were to resume again, and it might someday," said William Weiss, the retired president of Terrytoons, "we'd probably have to open on the West coast."
Weiss, who has been retained as a consultant by Terrytoons' parent company, Viacom International Inc., blamed the wind-down in production over the past few years on a combination of factors, including changing forces in the animation industry and the nation's economy as well as in television program syndication.

The television market has been an integral part of Terrytoon operations since the company was sold in 1956 to CBS by the late Paul Terry, founder and guiding force behind the growth of the Westchester-based cartoon company.
IT WAS IN the years following 1956 that the tempo of operations at the New Rochelle headquarters began to speed up as the staff of artists, directors and technicians bore down to meet the deadline pressures of a weekly Saturday morning show on CBS.
Before the changeover to television, a staff of slightly more than 100 people working on the three floors of the company's operations had turned out 26 shorts each year for screening in movie theaters in the U.S. and overseas.
During the late '50s and into the 1960s, a smaller staff was producing about 100 shorts each year for both movie theaters and the network.
This pace of mid-century activities would most likely have been unrecognizable to early animators such as Winsor McKay [sic]. whose "Gertie the Dinosaur" in 1909 was one of the earliest touchstones of animated magic.
IT WAS THE work of McKay and other early cartoonists that gave Paul Terry the idea of trying his hand at animation in 1915.
An illustrator with the New York Globe at the time, Terry worked in his living room for six months to produce his first scratchy short, "Little Herman," a character based on a magician whose vaudeville stage name was "Herman the Great."
He had trouble selling the work until he came up to New Rochelle and approached officials of the Thanhouser studios, a long defunct motion picture company. The company bought the work after youngsters invited off the street by Terry broke up in laughter at the moving cartoon.

"Those children sold my picture for me," he said later. "They laughed and everybody laughed but I wasn't sure whether Mr. Thanhouser and his crew were laughing at the picture or at the children, they laughed so hard."
There followed a steady growth in the fortunes of Paul Terry and his moving cartoons as he produced first a series based on Aesop's fables and later a stream of characters ranging from mosquitoes that sang jazz, to villainous spiders and peg-legged pirates.
IN THE MIDDLE '30s, when he moved his studios out of New York up to the city where he had sold his first short, the animation industry was poised on the threshold of what was to become a period of growth which still he hasn't ended.
Techniques and technology were improving, and the public was demanding quality in their cartoons People had grown used to moving cartoons, and so were no longer beguiled by the mere novelty of drawings that moved.
At the same time that Terrytoons was beginning to move, a man by the name of Disney, who had a studio on the West Coast, was beginning to get a very good reputation among animators.
Weiss tells the story of a secret meeting held in a movie theater in New Rochelle at which some of Terry's top animators were lured out to work on projected full-length animated movies — notably Snow White.
"Some of Disney's key men received their training in our studio." adds Weiss, who didn't learn about the meeting until some time after it had occurred.
CORPORATE PIRACY wasn't the only bad news plagued the Terry operation in the late '30s. One news story which hit the front pages was the report of a law suit filed against the famous illustrator by Frank H. Moser, who had been Terry's partner until 1936 when he sold his 50 per cent share of the company for $24,200.
Moser charged that fraud and deceit had been used to paint a bad financial picture of the operation when in fact the company was in the pink financially and about to expand. The courts found in favor of Terry. This ended what had been an early triumvirate of Terry, Moser and Philip Scheib, the music director who remained with the company longer even than Terry.
As the country entered the forties, the Terry characters went to war along with everybody else. Shorts such as "All Out For V" stressed "preparation and the importance of individual work" and swing shifts of war factories were treated to the midnight spectacle of helmeted screen animals marching to victory.
IN 1942. a birth took place at the Terrytoons studio which was destined to lift the firm to its highest pinnacle of public recognition. The new creation was called Mighty Mouse.
Thirty years ago this year this screen hero, who was the product of the combined efforts of several people, has fulfilled Paul Terry's original predictions that he would be the most popular Terry character ever. His shorts, along with other Terry Creations, are still released by the company at the rate of 12 each year.
After the war years, the forties blended into the fifties and television became king of the media mountain. The impact of the electronic media on the art and industry of animation would generate forces which
would eventually bring abort a severe cutback in Terry operations.
NEXT • the machinery behind the ghost.

A look back on the 'golden days'
Second of two articles
By DICK TRACY
Tommy Morrison, who once supplied the voice of Mighty Mouse, is a thin, ruddy-faced man whose light blue eyes and quick movements might fit your image of a cartoon animator.
The other day, he and Bill Weiss, who retired this fall as president of Terrytoons, sat in their New Rochelle office, amidst cartons and furniture labled for shipment to New York, and talked about the end of an era.
THE ERA BEGAN 38 years ago when the late Paul Terry moved his animated cartoon studio up to the southern Westchester city.
Over the years such celluloid celebrities as Mighty Mouse, Heckle and Jeckle, Dinky Duck, Deputy Dawg, Tom Terrific, Koolcat [?] and a host of other quick-witted rascals and kind-hearted dimwits danced their seven minute stories upon the animation camera stage and then were gone back to the story room.
Now, the story room, like the rest of the Centre Avenue studio, is empty. The few remaining pieces of furniture—a couch, a table, the fiberboard where artists pinned up their rough drawings—have been sold, given away or junked, gone the route of the special photographic equipment and the metal shelves where films were stored and the special desks where once animators and background men, inkers and opaquers toiled to supply a public hungry for funny cartoons.
All gone.
TERRYTOONS will operate out of the Manhattan offices of Viacom International Inc., formerly a division CBS and now the cartoon firm's parent company.
The scale of operations, however, has been considerably reduced from the early and middle '60s when the Centre Avenue studio hit full stride with its production for a weekly television show plus creation of commercials such as Bert and Harry, the Piels Beer duo.
It was in those golden days that, despite what business manager Nicholas Alborti terms a heavy production schedule, the company was still able to turn out quality material such as Eli Bauer's "Hector Heathcote," the minute-and-a-half man.
The short "Drum Roll" took first prize at the Venice Children's Film Festival for "using the particular possibilities of animation to realize a visual amusement permeated with intelligent humanism."
TODAY THE firm is engaged solely in sales and servicing of existing cartoons, unlike the days when dozens of animators like Tommy Morrison would wrack their imaginations in the story room or animators' cells. At times, they'd jump up to grimace or do a jig in front of the mirror, which was standard equipment for each animator, to help him realize the character he was working on.
"An animator has to be an actor," explained Morrison, who is a resident of Larchmont, as was his ex-boss Paul Terry.
"He has to have a feel for the character, then he has to make these feelings intelligible with his drawings. He gets very close in his mind to the character." Given such working conditions, it's understandable that the atmosphere at Terrytoons was unlike any conventional working environment, such as, say, a bank or a factory.
"Our approach over the years was strictly a fun approach," said Weiss who, like Morrison, went with Terry in the early '30s. "We wanted to make the kids enjoy themselves; to stir their imaginations."

THIS FUN approach carried over into the workday world, and some of the two men's fondest memories are of the early days in the Pershing Square building in New Rochelle, when the staff seemed to have as much fun as their celluloid creations.
The tale is told of one Christmas party when the 12-story building's elevators were commandeered by members of the Terry staff, and everybody using the elevators that day ended up at the seventh floor party—whether they liked it or not.
This spirit seemed to depart the company's operations in the '50s and '60s, perhaps, they suggest, because of the increased production pressure caused by television and because the new generation of animators, while dedicated the their craft, seemed less inclined to fool.
The two also claim the new batch of animators, while serious in their work, can't match up to the craftsmanship of those who were trained in pre-television days.
"Anytime you see really good work nowadays," said Weiss, "you can almost bet it war, done by one of the old timers; their training was more painstaking and they had time to develop greater skills.
MUCH OF THE work done on contemporary shows, which all feature humanoid characters, does not require the patient workmanship and craft which young animators cut their teeth on in the days when movie-goers were treated to a cartoon and newsreel as well as the feature show.
"There are a lot of would be good animators around," said Weiss, "but there aren't any places where they can get the type of training that used to be offered by us and by other studios."
Because cartooning is such a big business in this country, he explained, development of mass production techniques and specialized services to do stages of animation work have tended to shift the emphasis away from the individual animator's skillfulness.
"In the old days they'd study things like Grey's Anatomy or books on the bone structure of animals," he said. "Today this type of accomplishment isn't needed, so not many have it.
"In the United States, Australia and Japan, animation is a business. In most European countries it's an art form."
A GREAT DEAL of the work done for contemporary television animation is contracted out, he said, and the Japanese have captured a good portion of this market because of their ability to do the work less expensively.
And what of the future?
"Computers," said Weiss, "they're now working on a way to produce animated work by computer."
"Never," said Morrison. "It won't be animation if the human intelligence, the creativity, is taken out of it." He said this wistfully, as though afraid to think of a computerized future replacing what was in his lifetime an exacting art requiring close cooperation between the human brain and man's machines to produce the 8,000 to 10,000 frames, carefully drawn and colored, which made up the average short.
BUT ALL HOPE isn't lost. Questioning of several members of the under-30 set indicates a complete antipathy to much of the animation now turned out for mass consumption.
"There's one good thing about these modern cartoons," said a young mother, "kids don't stay glued to the TV set all Saturday morning like we used to. They go out and play."
Another girl summed it up more succinctly. "Cartoons just ain't funny no more," she lamented with a grimace and a wink in the best tradition of animation.

Drunken Camel

A rubber-legged camel decides to drink some beer in Mickey in Arabia (1932).



You can’t appreciate the animation in the frame grabs, as the animals sways and staggers. But you can appreciate the rubber-hose drawings that Disney would soon shy away from.



Author David Gerstein, who knows this kind of stuff, points out this is a partial remake of Oswald’s Harem Scarem(1928), which includes a drunken camel.

Response of the Coo-Coo

A large-headed parrot uses sex to lure a coo-coo bird in Columbia’s The Coo-Coo Bird Dog (released in 1947).

You see, writers Dave Monahan and Cal Howard have made a dog swallow the bird, and it won’t come out. That’s when the parrot (who had been harassing the dog earlier in the cartoon) becomes involved.

But it turns out the coo-coo is now outside of the dog (don’t ask how it happened). I like how it turns to the audience and urges us to be quiet as it bashes both the dog and the parrot.



Howard Swift, Ben Lloyd and Roy Jenkins are the animators with layouts and backgrounds by Clark Watson. Sid Marcus is the director. Darrell Calker’s sleepy score doesn’t help the cartoon.