Freddie Fudsie, Cartoon Star

They featured top animators including Emery Hawkins, designers including Tom Oreb and composers including Les Baxter. Some of them were released by MGM. But the cartoons from John Sutherland Productions may be among the most obscure ones in post-war animation history.

The theatrical release of a handful of the company’s films is only a sidelight. John Sutherland was not really in the entertainment business. He was in the propaganda business, willing to take on jobs from corporate America if the price was right. In exchange, he’d tell the tales corporate America wanted people to hear, that big industrial companies and banks weren’t ogres, but brought things that people needed, making life for everyone better, protecting The American Way.

I enjoy the Sutherland cartoons on an aesthetic level. The animation, designs and other artistry are very good, the voice work is excellent and the humour is well-placed. The message about capitalism and patriotism going hand-in-hand is a bit much, but this was the era of the Red Scare. (Ironically, John Brown who provided a voice in Make Mine Freedom was later blacklisted).

MGM released the following cartoons; basically the Sutherland shorts picked up some of the slack created when the Lah-Blair unit was disbanded to save money.

Make Mine Freedom (March 10, 1948)
Going Places (copyright Oct. 23, 1948)
Meet King Joe (May 28, 1949)
Why Play Leap Frog? (February 4, 1950)
Albert in Blunderland (August 26, 1950)
Fresh Laid Plans (January 27, 1951)
Inside Cackle Corners (November 10, 1951)

In none of the trade publications can I find a date when Going Places was released. Nor can I find an ad for a theatre screening it. But it must have appeared in theatres because the article below talks about it. The story appeared in papers September 25, 1949

'Freddie Fudsie's Animated Cartoons Are Selling American Free Enterprise
By HARLEY PERSHING
SEARCY, ARK. — (AP) — A blonde-haired moppet called "Freddie Fudsie" is seeking to sell Americans on the American economic system.
He was conceived by the president of a little Arkansas church college and brought to life on Hollywood drawing boards with the aid of Eastern capital. Freddie is an animated cartoon character.
He is the star of the second of four movie shorts designed to carry out the idea of Dr. George S. Benson, president of Harding College in Searcy. The idea is that Americans aren't doing so badly under the American free enterprise system.
The movies are geared to hold the attention of the average family through drama and humor while the message is being put over. "We're not trying to teach economics," explained Col. Nater, an associate of Dr. Benson. "All we want to do is remind Americans what a great country this is and remind them that freedom is everybody's job."
Dr. Benson is satisfied that Freddie is doing an able job of selling. He is an appealing little fellow who makes mistakes in his business operations but winds up on the right track. The story is a 10-minute fast-moving performance on the screen.
The films are the product of a four-way play — a bit of American business enterprise in itself. The credits run this way: Plots by Dr. Benson and his staff, financing by Alfred P. Sloan Foundation, artistry by John Sutherland, animated cartoon producer, and distribution by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer out of Hollywood.
The general theme of the cartoons is that profits have helped develop American business and industry and therefore profits have helped develop the nation. But there is no profit connected with the movies.
"We didn't do it to make money," Nater explained, adding that to his knowledge M-G-M "just about breaks even" on distribution costs after charging movie theaters are rental fee. The shorts are available without cost to clubs, business firms and schools.
The first of the animated color films, "Make Mine Freedom," deals with a workman, capitalist, politician and a farmer with problems. A quack tries to give them a cure-all called isms in exchange for their freedom. Then John Q. Public pops into the picture, exposes the peddler, and all turn on him.
"Going Places," the second short, which features "Freddie Fudsie," traces him from a boy who by the sweat of his brow eventually becomes a successful soap maker. Then he gets big ideas and with a competitor forms a combine to corner the market. This brings down the wrath of Uncle Sam, and Freddie runs into more trouble when another soap is put on the market at a lower price. But the to Hollywood tradition everything turns out all right at the end for our sadder but wiser hero.
The third strip, "Meet King Joe," recently was released, and the fourth, "Why Play Leap ", is to be shown for the first time in December.
The story behind the story of this endeavor is Dr. Benson. The small-statured native Oklahoman (he'll be 51 Sept. 26) was a missionary in China when he was named president of his alma mater in this famed strawberry producing area in 1936. Harding College is supported by the Church of Christ.
When he took the job, Dr. Benson expressed dismay at the change he found upon his return to this country. He said his fellow-countrymen "had lost their old confidence; lacked faith in their destiny."
He launched a campaign to persuade Americans to appreciate what he considered the good things about free enterprise as practiced in the United States. He began speaking, writing a newspaper column, and delivering a radio commentary on the accomplishments of capitalism as he saw them.
Later Dr. Benson developed what he calls "freedom forums"—a series of seminars at the college on economics. He encouraged several of the nation's top-ranking industrialists to attend. Now these seminars attract hundreds of business and industrial executives.
He still wasn't satisfied with results. He wasn't reaching the average man—the worker who preferred something eke to forum discussions.
This brought on the idea of animated cartoons and problems of financing, producing and distributing them. Dr. Benson negotiated the first hurdle when the Sloan foundation, an organization devoted to granting money for advancement of economic education, agreed to finance the program. The amount wasn't disclosed. The educator headed for the film capital and completed his mission.

There are no credits on Going Places, but you don’t need it for the music. You heard the same peek-a-boo clarinets at Columbia and at Walter Lantz. The score is from Darrell Calker. As for voices, Bud Hiestand is the narrator, with Frank Nelson playing the good and bad mini-Fudsies and Billy Bletcher is Sam Sudso. Voice historian Keith Scott has mentioned a young man named Rolland Morris worked for Sutherland and I believe that is his voice as the young Freddie.

The cartoon features a great clenched-fist, leaning over trot cycle by one of the Fusdie’s workers, but I can only guess that either George Gordon or Carl Urbano directed this.

The Sutherland studio worked steadily in the ‘50s, producing films in animation, live action and a combination of both. A few have been fixed-up nicely and re-released by Thunderbean; it’s a shame Going Places isn’t among them. Some are profiled in trade papers; Sutherland took out full-page ads promoting a number of the cartoons now circulating on the internet. Some day, perhaps, a history of the studio will be written so we can learn more about this little corner of the animation world.

Familiar Poses

Even an air of familiarity can’t make Chuck Jones’ Tom and Jerry cartoons entertaining.

Here’s a Grinch grin.



The dog with the small hindquarters up in the air (Belvedere in Doggone South).



The Wile E. Coyote side look at the camera. Jones loved that one.



This is from The Cat's Me-Ouch from 1965. A good crew worked on it but there wasn’t much left for Tom and Jerry to do by then.

Turnaround Cat

At Terrytoons and Hanna-Barbera, Carlo Vinci used to have an animation routine where a character would leap up, stretch out, churn his back legs while moving backward in mid air, then zoom out of a scene with a trail of dry brush strokes.

Here’s a good example of the same thing from another studio.

In Crazy Mixed Up Pup, an innocent kitty in a doorway suddenly notices Sam-as-a-dog running toward him (off camera). Here are some of the frames as the kitty zooms out the door.



Don Patterson, La Verne Harding and Ray Abrams are the animators for Tex Avery in this Walter Lantz short.

On the strength of this cartoon, Lantz decided to make it into a series. The problem was that Tex was gone. No one else can be Tex Avery.

Desi

His name will always be joined together with Lucy’s.

“The same old booze and broads” finally broke up Desi Arnaz’s marriage with Lucille Ball. Lucy pushed for I Love Lucy to get on the air because she thought it would save her marriage. It did for a while. And even though Lucy re-married, fans insist the two loved each other until the day she died.

Desi wasn’t an actor when he put I Love Lucy together. Nor was he a producer. He was a musician. His acting skills were passable for the show; he came across as a decent guy. His producing skills were brilliant. He insisted the show be shot on film, meaning the episodes could be re-run. That meant money, money, money, though I imagine CBS got a good chunk of it.

Here’s a syndicated newspaper story April 24, 1958 when he and Lucy were arguably TV’s number one couple.

TV Star-Tycoon Desi Arnaz Gets Lots of Riches But No Emmy for Recognition
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
HOLLYWOOD—(NEA)— Hollywood's biggest house cleaning job had been completed and it was moving day for Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz.
Desi wanted to bring along his bongo drum for a fanfare of wild ecstatic beats because of the occasion's significance but Lucy had talked him out of it. With nothing to do, rare for him, Desi just stood and looked at the new Desilu Studio—the big, 14-stage one-time RKO motion picture studio which he and Lucy purchased last fall for $6,150,000.
Then he looked at me and grinned:
"It ain't an Emmy!"
After seven years of TV stardom and executive status as owner-boss with Lucy of a company which produces twice as much film for TV as any of the major movie studios produce for the world's theaters, Desi Arnaz has never won an Emmy or even been nominated for one.
Turned Prophet
He's been called Hollywood's TV tycoon.
He's been called a TV business genius.
He's been called a TV prophet for deciding film was best for "I Love Lucy" back in 1951.
He's been called to watch Lucy accept an Emmy.
But he's never been called to the stage for personal TV recognition.
"There never was an Emmy for my type of performance," he likes to laugh about it. "I even suggested a classification for Cuban fellows with an accent who played the drums, who were married to redheads but nothing happened."
Nothing happened, that is, except that the 41-year-old fellow Lucy calls "The Mad Cuban" became the first TV star to buy a motion picture studio. Or as Hollywood likes to tell it, "Lucy said, 'All I want for Christmas is RKO,' so Desi bought it for her."
Three Studios
What they really own is three studios — two in Hollywood, one in nearby Culver City. Total sound stages: 35. Total TV shows filmed under the Desilu hallmark—27. Along the way, as you may have heard, Lucy and Desi picked up a big home next door to Jack Benny in Beverly Hills and another in Palm Springs, where they also own a hotel and an 18-hole golf course. Not bad for a one-time bongo drummer and a long-time movie comedienne.
Now they hope to make movies, too. Or as Desi tells it: "If we get a good story that just won't fit on that small screen, then we'll do it as a movie feature." It was moving day for Desi¬lu. More room, more stages, bigger offices, Ginger Rogers' old dressing room for Lucy, their favorite foods in the studio cafe, an oak paneled kingdom for Desi, a built-in nursery for the new baby of one of their writers, Madelyn Pugh.
Met at RKO
It was sentimental day and homecoming day, too.
A Hollywood success story with a wallop.
Lucy and Desi met and fell in love on an RKO movie stage in 1940. But RKO studio, now Desilu Studio, fired Desi a few months later. Then RKO didn't agree with Lucy on her career, Desi returned to his old job as a bongo-beating orchestra leader and Lucille moved on to bigger and better roles at MGM.
They found memories of those days during their spring-housecleaning job at the studio. Photos of Lucy in the studio files captioned "screendom's most colorful young actress."
I can even tell you that Desi couldn't even find RKO studio on his first day in Hollywood, He'd been signed after clicking on Broadway in "Too Many Girls." He drove through the entrance to a cemetery ad joining the studio that first day and announced to the surprised gateman:
"I'm Desi Arnaz. I work here."
The gateman laughed and said, "Mister, if you're a live actor, you belong next door. Drive down the street a couple of blocks. That's RKO." And that's Hollywood, too. Today Desi owns RKO.

That all changed within two years. Lucy and Desi shot their final scene together on The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour in 1960. Lucy filed for divorce days later.

What happened to Desi? Let’s jump ahead nine years. Here’s a wire service piece from August 23, 1967. There were two versions of this feature story. One started “On a clear day, Desi Arnaz can see the horizon line of the blue Pacific from the terrace of his beach home here and even on a foggy morning, he can spot neighbor Jimmy Durante studying a racing form sheet.” There’s no mention of Durante or “buying alfalfa and selling yearlings” in this longer version.

Back In Show Business, Desi Arnaz Is Surprised
By CYNTHIA LOWRY
AP Television-Radio Writer
DEL MAR, Calif. (AP) — Desi Arnaz, in the period following his divorce from Lucille Ball, sold his stock in Desilu, quit show business and retired to his horse farm, his boat, the track and golf course. He stood it for three years, but now he's back with both feet—and seems a little surprised.
"Things that got me where I was were the things I couldn't do when I got there," said the man who built a camera technique and a comedy series into a giant production company, Desilu, and a fortune.
Arnaz, now in his early fifties, has picked up some weight and his hair shows considerably more salt than pepper. After three years in retirement and two developing new shows he was lured back into television as producer and director of NBC's new comedy series, "The Mothers-in-Law," and has even been persuaded to act in one of the episodes.
After directing the first eight episodes, he is sidelined at his beach home at this Pacific Ocean resort recuperating from a freak accident which almost took his life. A veranda on which he was sitting collapsed and threw him against a metal stake, puncturing his side and requiring emergency surgery.
"I got where I didn't want to be because things began parlaying," said Arnaz, lighting a slim cigar and squinting at the ocean through dark glasses.
"We had a little studio and 'I Love Lucy' and then to compete we had to get a larger studio and from there on we had to get out or get bigger. We wound up with three big studios. But by 1962 I decided I didn't want to be Lew Wasserman (head of Universal Studios). I wanted to be Willie Wyler (a top film director)."
But for three years, Desi was neither. But his attention inevitably was caught by a book which he thought would make a good movie. Soon William Paley, chairman of the Columbia Broadcasting System, called him, Arnaz said, and asked if he really intended to return to work—outside television. "No more rat race," Desi told him. "No more wanting things day before yesterday."
"It takes three years to get even in television while losing $5,000 or $10,000 a year," he explained. "I was even then and I didn't know anything about comedy shows with gimmicks where the people take pills or live in bottles. . . Comedy is where you pile one joke on top of another joke and people laugh.
But the result was that Desi Arnaz returned to television, signed by CBS, his old network, to develop shows. And the first venture was based on an idea that had been kicking around Desilu since "I Love Lucy" days.
He first managed to get back Bob Carroll Jr. and Madelyn Davis who had written all 180 original Lucy shows. Eve Arden was added as the star comedienne, and although not Desi's first choice, Kaye Ballard joined her when Arnaz saw her performing in a night club.
The show was called "The Mothers-in-Law." Then CBS and a rich, important sponsor interested him in finding a situation comedy for Carol Channing. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly.
He planned to use the three-camera, live-on-film technique, made before a studio audience, which he developed for "I Love Lucy."
But then the come-back-story of Desi Arnaz took an unexpected turn. First "The Carol Channing Show" was dropped—then CBS turned thumbs down on "The Mothers-in-Law."
Later, "The Mothers-In Law," which had been developed with CBS money, was rescued—by NBC. Arnaz, naturally, feels that he has a good, funny show for the home folks, but he is hardly cocky since NBC has slotted it in a Sunday night half-hour that has proved to be a Death Valley for a succession of predecessors—opposite the second halves of both CBS' Ed Sullivan hour and ABC's "The FBI."
"I think it's honest comedy," he said with a shrug. "I guess somebody at CBS didn't like it. But I think you have to do something that you like, and then you have to find the right writers and actors who can play it. You start out to do something you think is fun. Then the public will judge. And if we are wrong, well, nuts, I'll go back to the horse ranch."
Arnaz, who handpicked Eve Arden to top-line the new show, says that effective, disciplined comedienne is the rarest bird in show business.
"In the past 30 years, how many really attractive women comediennes can you think of?" he asked. "Carole Lombard, Jean Arthur, Roz Russell, Kay Kendall, Lucy, of course, and Eve—that's just about the whole list.”
Arnaz, talking about women "who do things funny"—as opposed to doing funny things—observed that Jean Arthur can even "open a door funny" and that "Lucy can walk funny."
He is still convinced that the only way to achieve his ideal of television comedy is by using the technique of filming it while the cast is performing each show like a short play before a studio audience.
"You just can't fake those laughs we got," he said. "Hell, they are still using some of those old 'I Love Lucy' laughs as tracks for shows they are making today. Charlie Pomerantz—once the 'Lucy' press agent—and Dee-Dee—Desiree Ball, Lucy's mother—used to come to all the shows, and we all got to know the sound of their laughs. Just the other night I was watching a show and all of a sudden I heard Charlie and Dee Dee laughing."
Since Desi went back to television, Arnaz and his second wife, the former Edie Mark Hirch, have added a third home—an apartment in remodeled offices in one of the Desilu studios which Desi ruled when he was married to Lucille Ball. Now he’s just another of tie studio lessees.
"I like that," he said. "It's good when somebody in the studio comes up to tell me how much it's going to cost me to use something. And I can tell him, hell, he doesn't have to tell me because Fin the guy that set the price originally."

The Mothers in Law had casting problems and eked out two seasons. He made a few TV appearances and packaged some old shows for home video but, basically, it seems he pretty much concentrated on his horses. Arnaz died of lung cancer in late 1986.

People loved Lucy, and still do. I suspect they still like Ricky Ricardo and the man who played him.

Flypaper Kitten

Try as they might, the people making Van Beuren cartoons in 1933 couldn’t do Walt Disney. And they tried in Rough on Rats (1933).

There’s a female chorus, there are cute little kittens doing gag-less kitten stuff, there’s a threat vanquished when everyone gangs up on him. The designs are way, way too simple to compare to Disney, even 1933 Disney. The animation’s pretty stiff and odd in places (the kittens’ necks stretch out at times for some reason).

Here’s one of those atmospheric segments that’s going for likability. The black kitten lands on some flypaper and gets stuck. (This came out before Norm Ferguson animated Pluto battling with flypaper at Disney).



One of the other two kittens tries pulling him off by grabbing his tail. The black cat looks back at him. We can’t see an expression. A missed opportunity.



Cut to the kittens and flypaper on the floor. Note the little flick lines when the kittens wag their tails.



And some emotion lines.



Finally the kittens separate the flypaper and rescue the black one. On to the next scene.



I still like this short. It has no pretentions. And those kittens sure beat up on that rat.

Within about three years, Van Beuren had animators like Jack Zander and Bill Littlejohn who could compete with Disney-style animation. Mind you, within three years, the Van Beuren studio was closed because RKO decided to release real Disney cartoons.

Smearing Bogie

The pie scene with Bugs and Elmer in Slick Hare is one of my two favourite pieces of timing in a Friz Freleng cartoon (the other is Sam’s brick wall smash in Bugs Bunny Rides Again) but there’s a great smear drawing, too.

Bogie (played by Dave Barry) reveals the rabbit he wanted was for Lauren Bacall. When Bugs hears that, he dashes past Bogart and Fudd.



Friz’ animation crew of this period: Manny Perez, Ken Champin, Gerry Chiniquy and Virgil Ross.

Staying Young Part 1

On Sundays, we generally have a Jack Benny-related post. This one is only tangentially involving him and it’s split into two parts because of its length.

This appeared in newspapers in August 1974, four months before Jack died. It talks about aging, society and attitude. Jack is briefly quoted in both parts. At the time, he had no idea cancer was killing his pancreas. The age-busting opinions in the story would not have done anything about it.

Ageless stars think young
This is the first of two articles on The Power of Egoceotric Thinking — How the Stars Stay Young
By MARILYN BECK
By Gannett News Service
HOLLYWOOD — They seem to stay younger than Springtime, as ageless as a painting by Gainsborough, or a Michelangelo sculpture.
It’s plastic surgery, you say?
Yes, frequently. But it’s more than that. And it’s that “more" which provides classic textbook examples of mind over matter — the power of egocentric thinking. That scores of filmland septuagenarians and octogenarians don’t look their age is one thing. That they don’t act or feel their age is quite another.
True, cosmetic surgery flourishes in Southern California. But surface appearances don’t count for much — not where it matters.
The awesome fact is that underneath the facelifts and beneath the hair transplants are minds and bodies that refuse to grow old.
The show business capital is alive with patriarchal and matriarchal figures whose vitality — and sensuality — belie their chronological years.
For some of them it's a childlike refusal to accept that the aging process which besets others will ever beset them. And how easy it is for them to feel that way: the aging comedians encouraged by audience approval to play onstage and on-camera Lotharios to ingenue co-stars; the faded actresses who begin to believe retouched 8x10 glossies are accurate mirror images, that newspaper articles and studio biographies describing them as "young" and "beautiful" are no more than honest.
"You say something often enough and you begin to believe it," says Jack Benny, who’s been saying he's 39 for the past 40 years. The record books list the ageless comedian as 80, but in his heart he stopped getting older when he reached what he considers the maximum time of youth. He walks a little slower now and uses a hearing aid. but his wit and his mind are as sharp as ever, and he continues to thrive under a heavy concert and television appearance schedule.
“I actually do feel I’m 29 years old — and that feeling is what’s kept me young," he says.
Gloria Swanson not only doesn't feel her age — she doesn’t believe it.
She describes her life: "The most active of anyone’s I know — a five-ring circus, with always something going on.” She still accepts acting assignments and speaking engagements, oversees a lucrative clothing business, and is constantly on the go from her Palm Springs home to her Manhattan apartment to her villa in Portugal.
"I feel young. In my heart I am young" she says.
Pat Collins, who bills herself as hypnotist to the stars, so firmly believes that filmland personalities have found the secret to continuing youth, she exhorts students to follow the star’s examples.
“Tell your body it is young," she instructs students under her hypnotic influence. “Concentrate on thinking young — as the stars do. Will your face to be wrinkle-free, your organs to be young again."
The walls of Ms. Collins' Sunset Strip Celebrity Club are lined with blown-up portraits of personalities who have taken part in her sessions. She tells the story of one middle-aged woman who took the youngagain instructions so literally that her monthly menstrual cycle began anew — several years after she had gone through the menopause.
Geriatricians don’t scoff at the mind-over-matter theory. Helen Hayes maintains a hectic pace.
After all, they’ve been telling us for years that we’re only as young as we feel. And nowhere more than in Hollywood are there more illustrious examples of how effectively the theory works.
Gloria Swanson was 74 years old when she undertook a demanding tango number last year for a guest shot on the Carol Burnett Show. According to choreographer Ernest Flatt: "She was absolutely incredible. She never let up during five long days of grueling rehearsals. Her strength and stamina never wavered.”
Cary Grant is 70. He not only doesn’t look it, he doesn’t act it. Just ask any of the young n’ lovely lasses he dates. Just ask Maureen Donaldson, the 20’s writer with whom Cary is currently involved. Just ask Grant himself his virility is a source of soaring pride.
Bob Hope turned 71 on May 29. He spent the day as he spends most of his days — rushing between airports for flights that would take him on a round of charity and concert appearances.
I’ve seen Hope put in a 16-18 hour work day and never show the strain, while those around him — a fraction of his age — were ready to collapse from the pace and the pressure.



The list goes on and on, those filmland famed ones in their twilight years who are advanced in age, but active as youngsters — and children at heart.
Mae West is 82, and still hands out invitations to "Come up and see me sometime." Marlene Dietrich is 69, and continues to show off her famed "gorgeous gams" to concert audiences. John Wayne is 67, and hops off his trusty steed just in time to plan pre-production for his next cinema adventure. Groucho Marx is 83, and though he looks it, he manages to keep up with the social-professional pace set for him by Erin Fleming, his in-her-30s secretary manager/girlfriend/companion.
James Stewart, at age 66, still pilots his own racy Supcrcub airplane. George Burns, at 78, recently completed a one-man show at Los Angeles' Shubert Theatre. Henry Fonda, 69, continues with the gruelling grind of his one-man "Clarence Darrow" stage engagements — in spite of a pacemaker implanted in his chest following a collapse this spring.
Lawrence Welk, at 71, looks like a man in his 50’s, and shows no signs of setting aside his baton — or giving up his popular syndicated variety show. show. And Helen' Hayes, 73, retired as First Lady of the American theatre only to set about a dazzling course in moviemaking, book authoring, starring in a television series, and making endless rounds of personal appearances. Last year, as a respite from the grind, she took time off for an adventure vacation which included hikes through the African jungle.
Miss Hayes has her own theory as to why she — and so many of her colleagues — have been able to thwart the passing of time.
"When you are on stage or screen portraying someone else," she analyses. "You can forget who you are — and how old you are. You're stepping out of your own skin for that period of time and I sincerely believe actors and actresses save themselves many years in that manner."
Perhaps it is as simple as that.
Perhaps that's why Cary Grant, at age 61, felt qualified to marry actress Dyan Cannon who was then 25 years old. At approximately the same time in his life, Grant was playing leading man to 26-year-old Samantha Eggar in Walk Don't Run. If he could run through such a portrayal why shouldn't he feel fit to walk into a real-life involvement with an in-her-20s beauty.
Certainly show business personalities abide in a society where the rules and order are unique. Where it's considered proper for men to romance — to marry — women young enough to be their granddaughters. Where it's considered chic for women to carry on affairs with men young enough to be their sons.
"I never think of age," Dinah Shore says. "I'm always surprised, in fact, to be reminded of it in print."
Dinah is going into her third year of a modern relationship with 37-year-old Burt Reynolds. Both insist their age difference has never been a factor between them.
"I'll read something about myself," says the youthful-acting, youthful-looking Dinah, "and think, 'Hey, can that be me?' I'm having more fun out of life than I did 10 years ago."
Indeed she is, as are scores of other Hollywood still-lovelies who believe age is a relative thing — and that they are only distantly related to the almanac figures listing their dates of birth.
Kaye Stevens commenced her love affair with Salinas, California, disk jockey, Sam "Johnny Kansas" Warner Hiatt, when he was 21 and she a decade older. Five years later, the romance — and Sam and Kaye — are still going strong.
June Allyson had stored up quite a few complaints against Glenn Maxwell by the time they divorced in 1964. But one" thing both agreed had never bothered them during their marriage was the fact Maxwell was eight years June's junior.
During the lengthy period June Lockhart was involved with pop singer Bob Corff, she taught him that, "My main thing is being a woman. That's all that matters." Ms. Lockhart was then 45 years old, Corff 23. She had convinced herself — and obviously her swain — that, "People are realizing older women who are active and involved can be interesting."
Interesting, certainly, is the relationship of 65-year-old Merle Oberon and 38-year-old Robert Wolders. The former film queen met the latest love of her life when she selected him as leading man for Interval (a film study of an older woman who falls for a young buck). Now, after a three-year period of nearly constant togetherness to test their compatibility, they are planning to become man and wife.
A May-September marriage has worked out handsomely for 78-year-old Ruth Gordon, and her distinguished 62-year-old playwright/husband, Garson Kanin. They'll be celebrating their 32nd anniversary this year and, according to "Garson, "Have never thought about the difference in our ages."
Age simply doesn't exist for many of them: for Polly Bergen, 43, who has recently become involved with a much younger man and who believes, "You're only as old as you feel — and I feel young;", for Bing Crosby, 70, who has been married for 17 years to the former Kathryn Brandstaff, 30 years his junior; for Dean Martin, now married to a woman the same age as his eldest daughter.
You watch them in action and you've got to believe there's something to the theory that one is only as old as one feels . . . when you see sexagenarian swains romancing young starlets at Filmland restaurants . . . when you watch people old enough for old folks' homes live it up at late-night parties, guzzle booze with the gusto of someone who's just turned legal age, whiz down ski slopes or race around tennis courts with the strength and stamina of college athletes.
George Burns says he doesn't know how it is with his cronies, but with him the secret's simple: "I'm rich," he drawls. "I've hired someone to wrinkle for me." George is kidding. It's actually not quite as simple as that. Marlene Dietrich, Jack Benny, Bob Hope and George Burns play the concert stage while others their age play checkers.
Robert Young, Buddy Ebsen and Jimmy Stewart have been playing television heroes (working 12-14 hour days) at a time of life when many men are playing shuffle board. Lucille Ball, Gale Sondergaard, Molly Picon and Helen Hayes happily enlist for gruelling work assignments while most women their age do nothing more strenuous than babysit with grandchildren, — or great-grandchildren.

See part two by clicking here.

Staying Young, Part 2

Walking tall is how stars stay young
(This is the second of two articles on "The Power of Egocentric Thinking — How the Stars Stay Young.")
By MARILYN BECK
Gannett News Service
HOLLYWOOD – Plastic surgeons can take credit for the way many of the senior citizen stars look. But no surface restorative can explain the miraculous stamina enjoyed by show business personalities in their 60s, 70s and 80s — or the fact that such elders remain as sharp of mind as "kids" of 40.
Mae West credits her mental and physical vitality to good living and good food — and daily high colonics. A food faddist who neither smokes nor drinks, at age 82 she still works out each morning on an exercise bicycle and a walking machine. Bob Hope, 71, says his system keeps on constant because he doesn't smoke, drinks only in moderation, "and I watch what I eat."
He also makes sure he never misses his daily massage (even when a masseur has had to be flown to his side during entertainment tours in remote comers of the world). He also plays golf regularly. And he walks tall.
"Walking tall might be the most important lesson I've learned," says the man who still has the stride and the carriage of a man of 30. "People start to look old because they let their posture go — so that their bodies actually do shrink and start to bow. You’ve got to stretch your frame each day, walk with your belly tucked in and your head reaching the sky.”
Gale Sondergaard reaches for the mountaintops when she's not busy on stage. The 75-year-old, Oscar-winning character actress claims mountain climbing as her favorite relaxation.
James Stewart, at 66, continues to head for Africa when he wants to relax "When you're doing something like a safari, and camping out in the wilds, you don’t have time to worry much about anything except survival. It keeps you feeling young."
Will Geer ("Grampa” on CBS' "The Waltons" series) is 72, and is the despair of his grown children because he refuses to grow up. He insists on sleeping outdoors each night, rain or starry skies. He also rides his bicycle around the heavy-trafficked areas of Hollywood each day, though he admits he’s sometimes finding it hard to "push them peddles."
“You should pay as little attention as possible to old age," reasons Geer.
Jack Benny keeps up with all the best-selling sex manuals, though he enjoys boasting that he hasn't learned much from the texts that he didn’t already know. "All you need is common sense," says the 80-year-old comedic great.
Whatever it is that's needed to make one a for-real sex symbol, Cary Grant most definitely has it — if one is to listen to the endorsements of the women in his life.
Greta Thyssen was a recent-Miss Denmark in the Miss Universe contest when she was first swept off her feet by the screen idol, who was then 56 years old. "He was older than my father," recalls Greta "But he was as romantic and virile as any younger man I ever dated. Cary never acted or did anything to make you aware of his age.”
Aging — and the loss of virility — are simply a matter of mental attitude, Lorne Greene is convinced. The 58-year-old, silverhaired Pa Cartwright of "Bonanza" fame has two grown children and a daughter of six, and has been married for the last 13 years to a woman 18 years his junior. Lorne is a fearless skier, an expert tennis player. And he’s a student of the study of geriatrics.
"There are sections in Russia (Abkhazia) where people live to be 130, 140 years old — and where men of 120 still father children!" he says.
It all has to do with a psychological attitude and continued physical activity, according to Greene.
Sen. Charles Percy received first-hand evidence of the validity of some of Greene’s theories when he journeyed to the region of Hunza in Pakistan to observe individuals approaching the century mark who still enjoy active, fulfilling lives.
Percy, a member of the Senate Special Committee on Aging, met farmers in their 90s who put in a full day's work at their fields, women of close to 100 involved in community activities and household chores.
His conclusion: active physical lives and the use of organic foods and mineral-rich glacier waters have much to do with the longevity of the residents of Hunza.
Carol Channing, 50, takes along her personal cook when she’s working on the road — to make certain that nothing but properly prepared organic meals are served her. Carol analyses, "You have to keep in training like a boxer to remain active on the stage." She says that such esteemed theatrical greats as the Lunts and Sir Lawrence Olivier also believe, "The most important quality in theatre is not as much talent as health. It's the survival of the fittest."
Miss Channing, Miss Swanson, Miss Helen Hayes — at age 73, all exercise regularly and strenuously. So does in-his-70s James Cagney. who retired from the screen in 1961 to undertake an active life as a serious painter and operator of his 500-acre farm in New York State.
Cagney, who broke into show business 54 years ago as a hoofer, stays in shape by tap dancing daily, and offers this stay-young advice: "You should work out enough to get out of breath two or three times a day."
George Burns makes it a daily ritual to do Canadian Air Force exercises — followed by the downing of a few cold martinis.
Buddy Ebsen, who, like James Cagney, started out as a dancer, practises tap routines during lunch breaks of his Barnaby Jones series. At age 65, Ebsen is still an active skier, races his 35-foot catamaran, works his 35-acre, Malibu Canyon ranch — and gives the impression he works to live for the next party. On more than one occasion he's served as a source of awe — and inspiration — to younger members of his series company by putting in a 12-to-14 hour work day, then organizing an on-the-set wingding that lasted 'till the liquor supply ran dry.
Some of the stars stay young in spite of on-going love affairs with the bottle, others with the aid of spartan food and drink regimes and diligent dedication to exercises.
But for all of them there's more to their secret of youth than diet and/or physical workouts. There's a stay-young attitude they share that seems to have miraculously translated itself into stay-young bodies and minds. They don't accept themselves as old, and neither does an industry that continues to employ them, and a public that continues to support their work.
"I'm a workaholic," is the way Buddy Ebsen describes himself. "To me retirement represents the pinnacle of boredom. I'm hooked on that intoxicated feeling one gets trying to do something — and having it turn out right. There's no better feeling than that — or anything more capable of making a man feel like he's still a kid."
Buddy Ebsen is lucky. He's part of a privileged tribe of "kids" who are still allowed the luxury of work — at an age when others their age are considered fit for nothing more stimulating than retirement. To be old is a stigma in most modern day societies. To be 50 is usually to be over the hill — if you're not fortunate enough to be an entertainer.
The enormous increase in population after the Second World War brought about the practice of the mandatory retirement system — shoving old people out to pasture to make way for the young. However, what started out as an economic base has long ago become a psychological base.
In corporate quarters, your stability, wisdom and experience count for nil if you're 65 or over. At age 65, you're washed up, through.
At age 55, you can begin growing insecure over the fact you've only got a decade left to merit a paycheque. At age 45, you better face the sad fact that it will be next to impossible to switch jobs, because few firms want to take a chance on someone of "advancing" years.
Society constantly reminds us in subtle — and not-so-subtle ways — that life's opportunities are mainly for the young. That's the way it usually is — unless you're lucky enough to be in show business.
As far as Robert Young is concerned, there's no business like show business — in spite of its pressures and demands. "How many other fields are there like acting," he asks, "in which you can keep working when you're 90?"
To the 67-year-old Young, "real fulfilment is knowing what you want to do — and being allowed to do it."
Young says. "I want to work 'till I die." He says this after having tested retirment for six years in the senior citizens' community of Rancho Santa Fe, near San Diego.
He looks back on those years as a time when, "I tried to live the life of a country squire — and filled my days with pseudo activities. I was marking time on a treadmill."
His retirement experience ended when he signed as star of ABC's Marcus Welby M.D. series in 1969, yet he can still vividly recall the vacuum that represented life in Rancho Santa Fe.
"There were some of the unhappiest men in that retirement community," he reveals. "Former chairmen of the board — some who had ruled business empires. I'll never forget day one of them complained, 'I woke up this morning and thought, what in the hell do I do today?'"
Robert Young is fortunate. He's an actor, not a former chairman of a business board. There was an active career for him to return to — when he chose to and even he can't get over how much he's changed as a result of it.
"I astound myself," he says. "I zing around the soundstage or jump on a plane to do a benefit, or handle activities as national chairman of the Easter seal campaign, or settle down to work at my Universal studio offices where I'm producing some movies for ABC. I've never had such vitality before."
Robert Young is just one member of an impressive league of Filmland elders who serve as living proof of doctors' claims that a vital life helps insure a longer life.



Molly Picon, the 76-year-old star of American and Yiddish theatre, has been spending the summer working on the boards in A Majority of One. You can witness the spring of her step, the sparkle of her personality yourself in the For Pete's Sake motion picture currently in release.
David Niven is 64, but has the bearing and manner of a man of 40. He still makes a picture a year, has just completed a television special, is writing a follow-up to his best-selling autobiography, The Moon's a Balloon. And somehow still finds time to conquer the most challenging ski slopes near his Gstaad, Switzerland home.
At age 69, Joseph Cotton isn't able to land the top-flight American movie roles that once made him an idol of the silver screen. However, he's still fortunate to manage to keep constantly on the run with occasional European film assignments and steady work as the star of U.S. straw hat plays.
Fortunate, too, is Walter Pidgeon.
still witty and spritely at 76, to have found a series of movie and television assignments in recent years . . . and Red Skelton, 61, who was able to return from a short-lived retirement he hated to find his services still in demand as a nightclub and country fair-circuit star . . . And Fred Astaire, 74, who tried retirement once, found himself bored to tears, and now has more performing offers than he cares to handle. He just completed one he cared about: a feature role in The Towering Inferno for 20th Century Fox.
Well-known science fiction author Isaac Asimov turned to tv writing earlier this year for the NBC News Presents: The Pursuit of Youth. And after researching the tragic waste of retiring individuals at a mandatory age, he found he could easily identify with the show business personalities who are relieved of such pressure. At age 54, Dr. Asimov doesn't feel he's getting old, because "My job is no retirement. I am working harder now than I ever did."
If Lucille Ball isn't working as hard as ever since retiring her TV series this year, she is certainly maintaining a pace that could tax the strength of a youngster. It's been a constant round of Mame promotional trips for the 63-year-old Lucy, who's now charting her upcoming specials for CBS, and planning another movie. If she finds time for a break this winter, she'll take off for a "take-it-easy" cross-country skiing vacation.
Lucy, like her buddies Bob Hope and Jack Benny, believes in being more than "star." All three of them retain control of the projects in which they appear, sitting in with the writers, serving as final editor of material, keeping a close finger on production.
If Lucy has the reputation among some in the industry as a hard women to work for, it's because she demands the same perfection of co-workers as she demands of herself — and work without let-up.
If Bob Hope's TV specials invariably land in the top 10 of the Neilsen ratings, it's because he leaves no promotion ploy to chance — and will spend weeks on the phone and on the road, personally plugging the show to newspaper men, television hosts and live audiences.
"Work keeps me young," says 80-year-young Jack Benny.
"I can't imagine what I'd do without work, says Jimmy Stewart.
"I regard the dawn of each new day as a new day in which I can discover new interests and new insights," observes 70-year-old Gary Grant, who now applies the energies he once devoted to acting to activities as board memberspokesman for Faberge Products.
"The longer you work and try to get the most out of life, the longer you live," is the philosophy of Lorne Greene. The Griff series has failed, which served as his Bonanza follow-up, but he's just completed a role in Universal's Earthquake, is planning to produce and star in a film early next year — and is urging his agent to find him another tv series starring assignment.
Some personalities have been able to keep working because of sentimental value attached to their names during the current, nostalgia craze. However, most remain in. demand, not because of their age — but because they're regarded as ageless by industry and audience alike. They are citizens of a Never-Never Land where some idols never, never grow old . . . where Zsa Zsa Gabor at 51 is still playing at belftg "The Dollink" . . . where men in their sixties and seventies romance younger-than-springtime starlets both on and off the screen.
If geriatricians need additional proof that mental and physical stimulation can keep one vigorous and virile, they need look no further than the movie colony, where such men as Dean Martin, Bing Crosby and Henry Fonda keep wives 20 and 30 years their junior content . . . where Crosby, Anthony Quinn and Lorne Green became fathers in their 50s, "and Cary Grant a first-time father at the age of 62.
The rules that apply elsewhere don't touch the lives of the stars. The very society that has set 65 as mandatory washed-up age encourages show business personalities to retain-idol status as long as they can make it up the steps of a stage.
"That's what makes show business so great," analyses George Burns, who has spent months cutting a new recording and preparing for a one man show at the Los Angeles Shubert Theatre.
"There's something to look forward to all the time — and your age has nothing to do with it."
It's a mental attitude that has a lot to do with it — a refusal to accept that they are growing old. It's the power of egocentric thinking.
Charmed lives also have a lot to do with it — the opportunity to escape the retirement rules imposed on everyday society.
"When I stop hearing the audience's laughter, that's when I'll know it's all over," says Bob Hope.
Others in other walks of life should be so lucky, — of being accorded the opportunity to remain young until the day they die.

Read part one by clicking here.

More Studio, Less Money

Walter Lantz always complained about money. But he had enough to expand his studio and continue upgrading where he and wife Gracie lived (he bought Kay Kyser’s house in one of his transactions).

Lantz had shut down production in 1949 for what appears to have been over a year. His deal with United Artists for two seasons of cartoons was chopped down to one. He decided to go back to Universal-International. He inked a contract with U-I for six cartoons, which was boosted to 13 for the 1952-53 movie season (Lantz had also taken on a project involving Woody and the Red Cross). That meant expansion.

Here’s a story from the Los Angeles Evening News Citizen of June 19, 1952 about the enlarged digs.

LANTZ IN NEW QUARTERS
Luxury Studio Pleases Woody
By DOROTHY WATSON
"Wotta birdcage!" commented Woody Woodpecker today as he eyed the handsome wood panelling in his newly-completed quarters at 861 N. Seward St.
Woody, of course, is that animated cartoon character created by Walter Lantz, who has been in the business since 1916.
Five years ago Lantz moved his studio from the Universal-International lot in Universal City, where he had been since 1926, to the Seward St. location.
For three years he rented the old Spanish-type stucco building. Then two years ago he bought it and started making plans for its reconstruction into an up-to-date studio.
Actual work began in January 1951 under supervision of sound engineer William Garity, vice president and production manager of Lantz Productions.
Now the building is completed and the rascally Woody, is making himself at home in the midst of luxury.
The studio' occupies about 12,000 feet of space on the ground floor of the two-story building. The exterior is stucco covered fireproof brick, and all windows are equipped with heat-resisting copper screens. To keep down noises there are cork floors end acoustic lined ceilings. The building is air-conditioned throughout.
Although the exterior is strikingly attractive, the interior is luxurious. The walnut-panelled reception room with its glass-enclosed switchboard is highlighted with colored “cells” of Woody, Andy Panda, Buzz Buzzard, Wally Walrus, Miranda Panda and other creatures of Lantz's imagination.
The offices of Lantz and his secretary, Gladys Matthes, are walled in burlap paper in soft beige tones with Japanese ash panelling and Heinley shutters. Those shutters are worrying Lantz. He says he never knows when Woody may go on a tear and tear into them.
Other rooms house the cameras, one for black and white and one for Technicolor, story conferences, music and consultations.
But the “piece de resistance” is the animation room, 50x40 feet and completely insulated against outside sounds. In fact, it is so completely soundproof that conversation from desks 10 feet away cannot be heard. There La Verne Herding, animator with Lantz since 1939 and reportedly the only women animator in town, holds forth. She’s the boss of that room and everybody knows it.
Also enjoying the new building are about 35 other employes who help turn out six Woody Woodpecker films yearly, commercial films, a monthly comic magazine and several licensed products such as children’s records, costumes, toys, balloons and puzzles.

Lantz collected cast-off animation people—Bill Garity, Tex Avery, Fred Moore and Ed Love among them—and collected a cast-off animation building. The Seward street location had once been home to Harman-Ising, then Walt Disney, then Columbia/Screen Gems. When Lantz signed with United Artists, he was pretty much forced to leave the Universal lot, so he ended up at the spot at Seward and Willoughby (as in Inspector Willoughby, his human take on Droopy in the early ‘60s.

Lantz’ concerns about theatres paying for short subjects were valid. I doubt the money he got increased at the same rate as the expense of making a cartoon. Here’s one of his many entreaties for more money. It’s from the Valley Times of North Hollywood of Sept. 11, 1962.

No More Cartoons? I Blame The Exhibitor
“Do you want to know WHY the theatrical cartoon business is dying?” animator Walter Lantz asked.
“It’s really quite simple: It’s a cost problem, the old money factor.
“Over the past ten years,” the Woody Woodpecker creator said, “production costs have gone up 180 per cent but the revenue has remained the same.
“AND I’LL be quite honest with you,” he added. “If something isn’t done, Woody and I may not last more than another year or two.”
Lantz, the only remaining independent animator of theatrical cartoons releasing through a major (Universal), said that while the majors don’t make them anymore, he still produces some 19 brand new Woody Woodpeckers a year for the theaters.
“But we can't keep it up under the present circumstances,” he said.
“HOWEVER, there IS something that can be done and it might not only keep me in business but enable the majors to go back to their ink pots, too.
“As I said, production costs have zoomed skyward but I’m not criticizing the unions. People—good, talented people—deserve whatever they can get.
“But it’s the lack of the dollar at the box office that’s killing us. I lay the whole problem right in the lap of the exhibitors, the guys who book what shows YOU see in YOUR theater.
“THEY STILL pay the same price for cartoons they did 10 years ago because they don’t consider the cartoons that important to their program. Despite the fact that you hear oohs and ahhs in ANY theater whenever ANY cartoon comes on, the exhibitors still consider them fillers like a newsreel or a travelogue.
“If we say ‘You have to pay us more or you won’t get a cartoon,’ they say ‘Fine. Who needs it?’
“But if the exhibitors don’t start paying more on their rentals,” Lantz said, “the cartoon business for movie houses will truly be a thing of the past.”
“OUR RETURNS are not comparable to our investment,” he said. “You see, each cartoon costs a minimum of $35,000 to do or rather, to do CORRECTLY. And, it takes you four years to get any part of your investment back.
“That’s why no new outfit can get in. Even at only 10 cartoons a year, a firm would have to invest $1,400,000 before it got anything back. That’s a lot of capital, brother.
“But,” he reiterated, “if the exhibitors would just realize how much people like the cartoons and would pay just a little more, it would do the trick.
“In three or four years, a cartoon has approximately 17,000 domestic play dates, so by just paying $6 rental instead of $5 for the cartoon, the exhibitors could save the day.”

I can’t help but feel Lantz is being a little disingenuous here, as he avoids any mention of the money he raked in selling his cartoons for television distribution. His deals, one for his old black-and-white shorts, and then another with Kellogg’s in 1957 to create a half hour show out of mainly old cartoons combined with ancient silent stock footage, must have brought in a pretty penny or two. In 1955, KNXT paid a quarter million dollars for 149 of his aging cartoons (such as Oswalds and other titles of the late ‘30s).

There were also commercial contracts with Coca-Cola and A.C. Delco. His trips overseas for weeks at a time with Gracie had to be write-offs, as he visited Universal film exchanges. There were comic books and other commercial tie-ins. Lantz was no dummy. He owned his studio’s characters meaning he kept the cash. Lantz wasn’t standing at Seward and Willoughby with his hand out.

The increasing costs of theatrical animation killed the MGM cartoon studio in 1957, the Warners studio in 1963 and turned UPA into a TV factory in 1960. Even the two East Coast studios, Paramount and Terrytoons, faded away. Lantz stayed open. And even when he finally ceased operation in 1972, he never retired. He promoted his characters and helped children’s charities until the day he died.

Noble's Surburbia

Maurice Noble was the art director for John Sutherland Productions in between stints with Chuck Jones at Warner Bros. He was responsible for a large array of designs for It's Everybody's Business, a 1954 capitalism propaganda cartoon for Du Pont. He needed settings for the 18th, 19th and mid-20th century. Boats, maps, cars, hats, trains, cityscapes. And because it’s 1954, it has to be in a modern art style. He succeeded magnificently.

Here’s a little sequence. The Average Worker gets his pay.



Into his car he jumps to head home to suburbia.



He screeches to a stop (note the flat tires caused by excess braking) now that’s he back in his ultra-modern home. Note the trees with greenery made with friskets (and a sponge, I presume).



Mrs. Average Worker’s in the 1954 kitchen. She picks her husband’s pocket. He’s in so much in Dreamland over his pay that he doesn’t even notice. In the future, Jane Jetson just grabs her husband’s wallet.



I suspect the background artist is Joe Montell. The animators are Bill Melendez, Emery Hawkins, Abe Levitow and Bill Higgins, with Bill Scott and George Gordon punching up Sutherland’s story. Carl Urbano directed and Gene Poddany provided the music. All top-rate people. Unfortunately, I don’t know who did effects at Sutherland, but the effects animation is very good in the two-reeler, too.

While Macdonald Carey is credited with narration, Herb Vigran and Joe Kearns don’t warrant being mentioned on screen. Sutherland even went to the expense of hiring a male chorus.