Exhibit A: Binko the Cub

Binko the Cub got caught in a numbers game. Two of them, actually.

It’s 1930. Binko was the star character of the Romer Grey cartoon studio. Binko had a problem. There was only a small number of distributors that could release cartoons. Ub Iwerks worked out something with MGM. Hugh Harman and Rudy Ising did the same with Warner Bros. (via Leon Schlesinger). Charlie Mintz connected with RKO for his Toby the Pup series. Universal already had Walter Lantz and United Artists wasn’t interested yet. That was it. There was no one left for Romer Grey.

The other numbers problem involved dollars. Grey didn’t have any, certainly not enough to bankroll an animation studio, try as he might. It was a problem that boiled up several years after Grey closed his studio. We’ll get there in a moment.

More than 20 years ago, Mike Mallory researched and wrote an excellent capsule history of Grey’s cartoon operation. You can read it HERE. To sum up, Grey’s father was Zane Grey, who very comfortably made a living writing western novels, enabling him to build a spacious estate in Altadena. His mother Lina got her socialite friends together to toss in some capital so her 20-year-old son could set up a cartoon studio in the family garage.

Grey assembled an animation staff with loads of potential; many would go on to better things. A story has been told about how Ken Harris, later a fine animator in Chuck Jones’ unit at Warners, was willing to pay Grey to work there. Jack Zander (later at MGM), Preston Blair (same) and Pete Burness (UPA) were on the staff. Lina Grey’s bankroll convinced two barely-experienced assistant animators to leave Disney and come over—Bob and Tom McKimson. And young Romer hired Volney White to supervise things.

White was a Coloradan; he and his brother Ray grew up in Greeley, attending College High School and the Colorado State College of Education, moving to Los Angeles in 1923. The 1924 Pasadena directory doesn’t say where, but gives his occupation as “cartoonist.” In 1929, he was a director at Liberty Pictures on South Myrtle Street opposite the Santa Fe station in Monrovia; the local paper reported on a break-in at the sound movie studio that year. Somehow he connected with Romer Grey.

With no distribution deal in place, there was no one to pay Grey to make Binko cartoons. That meant no money to pay cartoonists, or anything else. When Romer’s mother was told $50,000 was needed to keep things operating—some of the staff had been charging lunch to her in lieu of their non-appearing salary—the studio shut down.

Mallory’s story ends in 1990 with the surprise discovery of the studio’s records—including artwork—in boxes stored in the basement of the Grey mansion. “Unfortunately, no trace of film was found,” he says. But there was film. Binko’s Hot-Toe Mollie turned up in the Library of Congress collection and was released on DVD/Blu-ray in 2014 in Tommy Stathes’ Cartoon Roots series (along with other excellent and interesting cartoons).

And the story doesn’t end with the demise of the cartoon studio. Volney White wanted his money. So he sued.

Here’s how the Pasadena Post put it in a front-page story on May 21, 1932.

Son of Author Named in Film Cartoon Suit
$356,280 Damage Action Against Romer Grey Is Filed in Court
Damages of $356,280 were asked of Romer Grey, son of Zane Grey, noted Pasadena author, in a suit filed in Superior Court late yesterday by Volney White, artist, 1461 Woodbury road.
Cartoon at Issue
The artist charged that Mr. Grey defrauded him of rights to a motion picture cartoon, known as Binko-the-Bear Cub.
Two years ago, the complaint stated, Mr. White showed the writer a cartoon drawing of Binko and that later an agreement was made to produce animated cartoons for motion picture houses.
Company Projected
Mr. Grey, according to Mr. White, was to form a company, called Romer Grey Pictures, Inc., to manufacture and distribute the films. The artist, he declared, was promised 35 per cent of the profits, guaranteed to be in excess of $75,000 a year, $5000 worth of stock, $2000 in cash and a salary of $150 a week for drawing the cartoons.
The complaint stated no company was formed although Mr. White signed over rights to the cartoon and two pictures were made. At various showings of the picture, the complaint continued, the creator received no screen credit for his work.
Waits for Pay
At no time was he paid, although he worked forty-one weeks drawing cartoons, and he received no cash or stock, it was asserted.
In detail, Mr. White asked $350,000 damages, $6250 in salary and $30 compensation for the claim of a workman which he purchased.
According to Walter S. McEachern, attorney, several laborers who worked on the pictures, have laid demands for wages before the Labor Commission.

The wheels of justice turn ever... well, let’s skip the cliché and tell you it took 13 months for the case to get to court. The Los Angeles Times’ report on June 22, 1933 informs us two cartoons were finished, though I’d be interested in how White arrived at his dollar-figure.

ZANE GREY SON IN COURT FRAY
Artist Asks $756,250 Animated Cartoons
Contract Action Opens Today in Pasadena Court
False Representation Charge Made by Plaintiff
PASADENA, June 21.—Romer Grey, son of Zane Grey, famous novelist, is the defendant and Volney L. White, artist, the plaintiff in a $756,250 breach-of-contract damage suit scheduled to be tried here tomorrow in superior Judge Wood's court.

White charges in the complaint that young Grey made false representations in obtaining the rights to the motion-picture production of "Binko the Bear Cub," "Hot Toe Mollie," and "Arabian Knight Mare," animated cartoons which the plaintiff asserts are his original creations.
The complaint recites that Grey said he had formed a $50,000 corporation to produce motion-picture adaptations of White's drawings. The artist, it is asserted, was promised 35 per cent of the profits which Grey is said to have estimated should net White $75,000 the first year, and more later. The plaintiff also contends that he was promised $1000 cash in advance and that Grey had agreed to employ him at a salary of $150 a week.
"All of these representations were false and fraudulent," continues the complaint, "and were made solely for the purpose of inducing the plaintiff to assign to the defendant all rights to the films."
Two of the animated cartoons, according to White, were exhibited in Southern California theaters, but Grey refused to show any more. As a result, it is contended that the the cartoons, valued at $750,000, became worthless. White also asks $6250 he charges Grey owes him for services.

The court case took a day. White didn’t get anywhere what he wanted. This is what the Pasadena Post reported on June 24th.

CARTOONIST WINS $900
Volney L. White Compensated For Nine Weeks Spent Sketching For Romer Grey Comedy
Judge Walton J. Wood in the Pasadena Superior Court late yesterday awarded Volney L. White, cartoonist, a judgment of $900 against Romer Grey, son of Zane Grey, author, as the result of the lawsuit instituted by the artist. The judgment came after Judge Wood and attaches of his court had gone to the Tower Theater and had there viewed one of the cartoons based on drawings made by Mr. White as produced and animated by Mr. Grey and his associates. The animated cartoon showed Binko the Bear Cub straying from the path of good judgment and coming in contact with Hot Toe Mollie, a young woman of parts.
The plaintiff had asked for $750,000 for breach of contract plus $6250 for actual work done in producing the cartoons and drawings, some 15,000 of which were made for one picture. It was held by the court that all the plaintiff is entitled to is pay at the rate of $150 a week for the nine weeks spent in producing thousands of drawings for the feature. The other deal was held to be a partnership and as it was not shown the partnership had been profitable to either party in the way of producing revenue, nothing was awarded in the main issue.

In a story on June 23rd, the Times reported the judge hearing the case “preferring fishing to watching animated cartoons” but the paper had this to say the following day:

After viewing “Hot Toe Mollie,” first sequence in the “Binko” series, at a special showing this afternoon at the Tower Theater, Judge Wood announced from the bench he “enjoyed the picture and can’t see why it didn’t sell as it seems as good as any of the other animated cartoons.” During the testimony, Grey revealed that he finally sold the only two film productions of his company to his mother, Mrs. Zane Grey, for $9500. His mother and father, he explained, had footed the bills for his picture enterprises.

Grey carried on being the son of Zane Grey and died in 1976. White continued his animation career. Bobe Cannon was the usher at his wedding in 1934. A Greeley newspaper report of September 3, 1938 stated Volney and brother Ray had been at Warner Bros. for five years (Volney eventually received screen credit as an animator in the Frank Tashlin unit) before they headed to Miami to work on Gulliver’s Travels. The 1940 Census shows Volney living in New Rochelle, New York; he directed several cartoons for Terrytoons. He returned to California by 1943. The North Hollywood directory the following year gives his occupation as “aeroworker” but the Voter Registration List states he was an “artist.” He might have been both. Military documents show he was a private who served six months from the start of June 1943 and record him as unassigned to an “aircraft casual detail” and with the First Motion Picture unit on the Hal Roach lot in Culver City.

After his discharge, it’s not clear where he worked but he remained in the Los Angeles area, where he died on December 23, 1966.

As a side-note, a song called “Binko the Bear” was copyrighted on Dec. 26, 1930 by Gene Quaw and James Mayfield of Los Angeles. I can’t confirm if this had anything to do with the cartoon.

Fans of early sound cartoons can be happy this footnote in animation history has been restored for viewing, if nothing more than a curiosity. In some ways, it’s atypical of a 1930 cartoon. It’s mainly musical with animals playing makeshift instruments. There are some overlays (that move when they shouldn’t), which must have been daring for that year. Some of the characters look like something from a Disney or Harman-Ising cartoon of that era, and a few of the backgrounds are reminiscent of something in an Ub Iwerks cartoon. Binko is a non-personality (and a silent one) who, in Mickey Mouse fashion, gets the senorita in the end. We wonder after coming away with only $900, Volney White didn’t think he got it in the end, too.

Arise

There are so many great scenes in Rabbit Hood, it’s tough to pick a favourite.

One of the best is when Bugs, disguised as the King, “knights” the Sheriff of Nottingham. Chuck Jones’ timing, the wonderful animation (Ken Harris?), Mike Maltese’s punny names and Treg Brown’s metallic sound effect fit so well together. The frames below in each group below are consecutive.

Arise, Sir Loin of Beef!



Arise, Earl of Cloves!



Arise, Duke of Brittingham!

(This is an inside joke. Brittingham’s was a restaurant/watering hole adjacent to CBS/KNX radio on Sunset Blvd. This was a favoured spot of the Warners writer with the regal bearing, Tedd Pierce, who won the sobriquet “The Duke of Brittingham”).



Arise, Baron of Munchausen!



Arise, Essence of Myrrh!



By now, Jones has set up a rhythm in the situation, so he can cut to a close-up of Bugs. We don’t see the sheriff getting smashed now, but because Jones has established it, and we see the battered sceptre move and hear the sound effect, we still laugh because we can picture what’s happening.



This is just one frame of the sheriff struggling to get up. It’s all wonderfully rendered.



Jones’ animation team at the time was Harris, Phil Monroe, Ben Washam and Lloyd Vaughan.

Roller Dog

Roller skates play a role in one of Tex Avery’s sleep cartoons, Doggone Tired (1949).

The premise is a little rabbit does whatever he can to keep a dog up all night, making the dog too tired to hunt him in the morning.

As usual with many of Avery’s cartoons, dialogue is unnecessary. Here are some of the positions the dog is in when skating uncontrollably on the floor toward the not-unexpected open cellar door.



Ooooh, that bunny is so Disney-like, isn’t he? He was designed by ex-Disney artist Louie Schmitt.

Bobe Cannon, Walt Clinton, Grant Simmons and Mike Lah are the credited animators. Rich Hogan and Jack Cosgriff were the writers.

You Called, Mervyn?

It’s a television pairing that sounds improbable—singer and game show host Merv Griffin, and an actor who played condescending English butlers, Arthur Treacher.

But it worked.

Treacher was in his 70s when Griffin tabbed him to be an announcer. But not only did they survive together for several years and versions of The Merv Griffin Show, Treacher embarked on a second career as a canny businessman, first with a rent-a-servant operation and then lending his name to franchised fish-and-chip restaurants.

His first career apparently began at the Oxford Theatre in London in October 1919 when he appeared in a musical production of Maggie. In April 1926, he came to New York to appear in Shubert's latest Great Temptations revue with Jack Benny, Billy B. Van, Miller and Lyles and a young lady who later became known as Penny Singleton. Motion pictures followed, with television arriving afterward, including a guest appearance on the Tonight show with fill-in host Griffin. They connected again in 1965 when Westinghouse dumped Steve Allen to syndicate Merv.

Treacher had a wonderfully dry and sometimes withering wit that scored well with talk show audiences. Here’s a King Features story that appeared in papers on April 11, 1970.

Presence of Dour Arthur Treacher Enhances a Television Broadcast
By CHARLES WITBECK
HOLLYWOOD—What this country needs is more grumblers.
This comes from a dour old man, Arthur Treacher, Merv Griffin's associate, who makes a very comfortable living grousing. You'd think Treacher would want to keep quiet about his secret in an age where friendship, the big smile, the glad hand and assume interest are considered essential to getting ahead.
But Arthur isn't worried about competition. The man has sinecure with his boss who only asks, "When will you have had enough?"
"When I feel badly," answers Arthur. Going on 76, he knows full well the beauties of his position. No other job could come close in matching benefits. Treacher leaves his house at three in the afternoon, and returns at 8:45 in the evening having performed, and taken time for drink and probably an excellent dinner at Sardi's, or some other good restaurant, where he reacts kindly to acclaim and familiarity from guests and waiters.
He represents the grand old man accustomed to receiving tribute and respect from associates, and he doesn't have to do a blasted thing in return, except peal off a few anecdotes about Hollywood days, or put on a look of disgust for the television camera when the guest becomes a bore. The man doesn't even to think to live this way.
Treacher really cinched this dream job by submitting to 85 minutes of silence on an old Griffin show, listening to guests prattle on, before he broke in with "I think you're all idiots.
"Is that all you did?" questioned Griffin, trying tp recall how the show went off.
"That's enough," Treacher replied, and his boss agreed.
Naturally, any employer with this kind of forebearance deserves recognition. Arthur puts Merv at the top of the list with this example of the understanding leader. He was grumbling a bit before the show one afternoon within earshot of the host, who touched Treacher on the arm and said, "You seem to be in bad temper. Go get yourself a drink before we begin."
Mr. Treacher's temper is decidedly on the bilious side these days because of a hepatitis bout, which means laying off the alcohol, a condition foreign to the man. "I have always been a credit to the distillery people," he said, anxious not to ruin his image.
Perhaps a liking for drink and bad temper go hand in hand. The perfect example is W. C. Fields, a man lionized by the young, a type needed desperately for their lack of humanity to the kiddies. Treacher isn't quite sure whether he agrees with this line of reasoning, but he knows grumbling is welcomed by youth. With Arthur this attitude came more or less by accident.
In his Hollywood days, Treacher was typecast as the English butler, competing for parts with Eric Blore. The two finally met in an M. G. M. picture in which they were rude to each in church, and Treacher admits he was far nicer than Blore, who "grumbled beautifully" even off the screen, but he picked up, Eric's trade secret.
Treacher doesn't expose his true nature on the air. Most of the act is a put-on, since it would take effort to use true feelings which are kept hidden. The actor claims he has a black heart, and says he's sick to death of “everyone sitting around on their hind ends talking about pollution, and not doing anything about it. If you're going to beef, action must follow, an English tradition.”
Naturally, at his age, grousing without backing it up, is accepted. The trick is to do it with humor, and not become a bore. Wit is essential, a good memory necessary, plus an ear for the latest anecdote. Treacher keeps in touch through cab drivers, newsboys, waiters and doormen.
“I never send food back,” he reposts, "nor am I ever rude to waiters, doormen or taxi, drivers. I even let some call me Artie, which like Perc, is an abomination."
For his pleasure, Mr. Treacher merely reads and frequents Aqueduct race track, an 18-minute ride from home. As for television, he never looks at the set. "It's too exciting," he says, deadpan.

CBS didn’t want Treacher on the show to begin with, Griffin once wrote, claiming the network’s research said he would only attract an older audience. The ratings showed otherwise. CBS then tried to use Griffin’s move from New York to California in September 1970 to get rid of the esteemed gent. But Treacher saved them the trouble, telling Griffin he did not wish to go back to the West Coast.

Here’s a story from the Rome Daily Sentinel of July 23, 1974 where Treacher shrewdly gets almost a quarter page of free publicity for his business.

'Naughty' Arthur Treacher denies fame, admits greed
By JEFF COPLON
At 80, Arthur Treacher is the perfect jocular old Englishman, complete with red lace, jutting chin and a presence at once commanding and gentle —Winston Churchill with a wink.
Treacher walks a little stiffly these days, his face is jowled, his pants rise high over a comfortable paunch. But he is nonetheless a rare octogenarian who has been more mellowed rather than declined with the passing years; the brain is still alert, and the delivery and timing are faultless, like that of a lead actor in a long-running hit play.
Now the king of a tartar sauce empire known as Arthur Treacher's “Fish ‘N Chips”. Treacher has spent the last two days in the area promoting local franchises.
There are now nearly 300 "Fish ‘N Chips,'' and in two years, according to Treacher, there will be 1,000. Their namesake spends a fair amount of time on the road.
Treacher will be at the Rome "Fish N Chips" franchise at 6 p.m. today.
While insisting that he's "not a traveling salesman," Treacher spends a fair amount of time on the road promoting the nearly 300 “Fish 'N Chips” throughout the country. He said he genuinely likes the product's he's hawking— "thank God, it would be awful if I didn't" — and even goes so far as to rate it higher and less greasy than the British original.
Treacher is bemused but hardly defensive about this latest twist to a career which has ranged over two continents and a half-century in on stage, screen, radio and television, most recently as the naughty but lovable sidekick to popular talk show host Merv Griffin.
"I don't think I've brought anything to the culture of the world." he said "When I did movies, I always looked at how much I got from them. My favorite film picture was the one I got paid the most for."
He is equally unimpressed with his growing fame: "People say I'm famous, but then so was Capone. I don't want any of this."
Treacher worked in his last play, “Camelot,” eight years ago, and he cannot conceive of doing another one.
"Theatre, the thought of going out every night and performing the same lines, bores me stiff. And it's not the same any more We used to have more fun in the early days, we'd go to a restaurant after the show and people from other plays would come and we'd kid each other.
"But after Camelot, everyone went their separate ways after the performance, there was no camaraderie."
Treacher also laments the disappearance of "the great, great stars, where the people went to see the star and didn't care what the play was.
"There were magnetic people like Al Jolson. It was just a joy to be with him near the end of the show, he'd get sick of the play sometimes and asked the audience if they wanted to know what happened at the end.
"Then he'd tell them, and he would sing and dance for them for an hour or more He was a man's man."
Treacher lists his favorite leading ladies as Joan Crawford, Ethel Merman, Ethel Barrymore and Shirley Temple, with whom he made six films, either as "a butler or a broken-down vaudeville man."
His own career began with a role as chorus boy in a 1919 London production. "I had always wanted to be an actor when I was a boy." he said. "My parents would take me to the theatre and the circus and I took to it right off."
In 1926, Treacher came to New York, and he's lived in the area ever since. He has returned to England for a few visits, but says he doesn't really miss it.
"When you get to be 80," he said, "most of your friends are dead. And England has altered a great deal physically. The houses in my mother's village have all been made over into apartments and condominiums. "
Treacher conceded, a bit coyly, that his image as a dignified and occasionally inebriated rake on the Griffin show was "all true — I went to Sardi's often to have a few drinks before doing the show." But was he ever actually . . .
"Sloshed? Oh yes, not enough to upset my brain, but my eyes were sometimes quite bloodshot. One time I told Griffin: ‘To be on your bloody show, you've got to be drunk.’"
More seriously, Treacher said he had a great affection for Griffin, and that "his was the only show I would ever go on." In between his bouts of promotional work, Treacher pursues his hobbies of French cooking and reading in his country home in Douglastown, Long Island.

Griffin carried on talking without Treacher until the mid-'80s; he ended up extremely wealthy due to smart business deals in real estate and television. He always talked warmly of his association with the former film and stage star, even after Treacher died in December 1975.

Ah, the Old Pepper Gag

Disney’s second-rate version of Felix thinks (you can see the wheels turning) and an idea pops out of his head in Alice’s Balloon Race (1926).



Julius engages in the pepper-creates-sneeze cliché to get a hippo to blow Alice’s downed balloon back into the air.



I imagine the pepper gag dates back to newspaper comic strips before this.

The cartoon bears the name of Walt Disney and producer M.J. Winkler.

Eyes of Lantz

Abou Ben Boogie gets a load of Miss X as Darrell Calker’s brassy score plays in the background of this 1944 cartoon from the Walter Lantz studio.

In the first part of the scene below, there’s movement in every frame. Gravity (follow-through action) moves Miss X’s clothes in one frame, then her drawing holds in the next frame while Abou’s eyes combine and enlarge. The action alternates like that.

You’ll notice the eyes throb in a way; they pull back in a bit, then extend.



Miss X is on a held cel as Abou looks up and down, blinks twice, and his eyes pull back in. That part is animated on ones and twos.



Pat Matthews animates the dance scenes and they’re truly well done. Director Shamus Culhane uses only solid colour in the background in a number of places and, for whatever reason, has cycle animation of Miss X strutting, but you can only see the upper third of her body.

There are dopey, cross-eyed characters as well, so you know Bugs Hardaway had to be involved in the story.

Unfortunately, Abou Ben Boogie was the second and final of the Miss X cartoons. She was too much for the censors.