There's Something Familiar About That Dog

There are many people who are quite expert at watching animation and recognising the artist. I am not one of them. But even Mr. Magoo could see that Chuck Jones is written all over these frames.



Jones wouldn’t have drawn these, not at this point of his career, but I imagine he did the character layouts. Someone can accurately tell you if this is by Ken Harris or Abe Levitow or someone else.

This is from a commercial for Gaines Multi-Menu, a product of General Foods, likely from late 1964. A nice bit of animation is a swirl before the dog lands in a position that reminds me of Charlie Dog. It's animated on twos.



You can download the spot by clicking here. All the voices are done by Paul Frees.

Tongue in Hand

Here’s Boxoffice’s review The Framed Cat (1950)

Good. Another excellent Technicolor cartoon in the popular Tom and Jerry series. Jerry, the tiny mouse, tries to frame Tom, the cat, by planting a bone stolen from Spike, the bulldog, on him. This leads to the usual complications in Tom’s life as the ferocious dog pursues him. In the end, the cat has to bow to the superior chicanery of the tiny creature.

One sight gag I like is when Spike is licking the bone as Jerry takes it. He realises something is wrong. Then the dog’s tongue turns into a human hand, feeling around for the bone.



The usual crew animates this: Irv Spence, Ray Patterson, Ken Muse and Ed Barge.

The cartoon was reissued in 1965.

Honking, Hats and Home life

“When he hits a low...he is impossible to talk to.”

One wouldn’t think that is a description of Jack Benny, but that’s how his business manager Myrt Blum described him to the man who later managed Benny’s career, Irving Fein.

Understandably, newspaper and magazine articles about Benny didn’t talk this all that often. It’s not good publicity, you know. But besides Fein’s book, there’s a reference to it in an article in the June 30, 1939 edition of Radio Guide. In it, we see a not-so-perfect Benny, as well as a candid revelation that his wife was quite enthralled with the finer things in life. “High strung” is an interesting way to refer to her.

It starts off by looking at some of the silly restrictions placed on what he could say on his radio show (with a bit of a side journey about a moose). And there’s plenty of trivia, too.

I don’t believe I’ve either read or posted the previous chapters of this series, unless one of them involves his oft-told tale of growing up, vaudeville, meeting Mary, going into radio, and such.

THE MELANCHOLY CLOWN
This concluding chapter in the story of Brother Benny tells you how serious he is —and how funny!
By James Street
BENNY is a serious man. Tom Harrington, his radio boss, says he's the most serious man in show business, possibly excepting Fred Allen. He talks shop all the time. Mary buzzes around, but Jack is apt to get you in a corner and pound your ear with his woes and talk ideas.
“It’s impossible for Jack to relax,” Harrington said.
He’ll talk for hours about censorship. He believes the public should be protected from obscene shows, but he thinks too much censorship is dangerous and that it can wreck comedy. Rules regarding controversial subjects are rather silly at times and Benny is penalized particularly because so much of his humor is based on today's happenings.
After the Orson Welles' Mars program, Jack was going to use some cracks about Mars, but he was blocked. A week later he was allowed to do so, but the punch was gone. Maybe Mars is controversial. Unquestionably, radio is childish about "controversies" and in straining at a gnat often swallows a camel.
Along that line, this little recent incident may tickle even Mr. Benny, who is not the only radio man with woes. Phil Stong's "Honk the Moose" was broadcast recently, and Phil was asked to take the part of the moose he made famous. His job was to honk. The moose story is for children and thousands of them have read it. But some minute-man of radio came up with the startling information that mooses honk only during mating-season, therefore Phil's honk would be out of order. There was quite a to-do about it. Maybe the FCC and some of the bigwigs would be offended if there were a nasty old honk on the air. Phil Stong was too amused to be offended, even at such ignorance. He simply pointed out that a moose honks as a cow moos, a duck quacks, a sheep bleats and a dog barks. He went on and honked for his moose. America's morals were not soiled.
Benny is a cooperative soul and he's willing to cut his show to conform to good taste. Recently he had a school room scene in his tentative show. A day or so before broadcast date, a school bus was wrecked, and Benny cut the scene rather than remind America of the tragedy.
HE IS not allowed to get by with gags that Allen can use. Jack is prohibited from saying anything about a bad appetite, and he can't kid about taste. His agency handles many food accounts, and they fear that if Jack kids about foods somebody might not buy some of General Foods products. We hazard the suggestion that is very funny. Brother Benny can work miracles but we do not believe he can wreck America's appetite.
Benny is never temperamental, but he gets irked. He was in Boston one day and it had been arranged that he call on the Governor of Massachusetts. He went to the executive's reception room and waited. The Governor was busy. Jack waited a long time, then got up to leave. A stooge of the Governor's said, "Don't go, his excellency will see you in a minute."
JACK said, "I've got to go. My option comes up in thirteen weeks. The Governor is good for four years."
Benny has had trouble only once with his program, and that was when he hired Michael Bartlett as his tenor. Bartlett's voice didn't fit the tone of the program. The contract was canceled in friendly fashion and Benny hired Kenny Baker, who now ranks next to Bing Crosby in popularity. Don Wilson also rose to fame after joining Benny. However, Benny's hired hands are "typed," and in years to come that may cause trouble for them.
Burns and Allen are the Bennys' best friends and have been socially associated with them for at least twelve years, ever since Jack and Mary married.
They play Friars "Around the Corner" and rummy together. Jack and George play pocket billiards while Mary and Gracie concentrate on backgammon. The two women favor the same shops but avoid duplicating clothes because they are together so much.
Jack thinks George Burns, Eddie Anderson—the Rochester of the show—and Andy Devine are the funniest men alive.
Although Benny is moody. he'll laugh himself sick if he's really amused.
"He'd laugh at a red hat." Burns said. "His friends enjoy punching in his presence because Jack is such a good audience. He'll literally roll on the floor when highly amused.
Once he fell down and crawled on the sidewalks of New York because he got tickled at Burns. The two were waiting along and Burns said something unimportant. Benny doubled up.
"What's so funny?" Burns asked.
"It's not what you said," Jack replied, “but I know what you are planning.”
Burns didn't.
The two clowns used to have a telephone game that was very funny to them. Burns would call Jack and say he had some important information. Then right in the middle of a sentence he would hang up. Benny would roar. Once Jack wired George to meet him on the nine-thirty train that would arrive at a certain station. George wired back. "What time will you arrive?" Benny then wired friends all over the country and they wired Burns "Benny will arrive at nine-thirty."
George didn't meet the train. He posted the telegrams all over the walls of his room, and when Jack asked why he didn't meet him, Bums said, "I didn't know what time you would arrive."
Jack rolled on the floor. Gracie and Mary put a stop to such doings.
When Benny and his writers are working on a script, he will act the whole thing. If the script calls for him to climb a ladder, he'll climb one. He gets peeved at Beloin and Morrow, the ace gag-men, at times, but never bawls them out. Instead, he scolds Baldwin, his secretary for eight years, for not "reminding the boys to do such and such."
He loses his temper with his radio cast if they don't put their whole heart in rehearsals. But after bawling them out he'll say, "I'm sorry I was a bit harsh."
Benny has been accused of being absent minded and reserved. Morrow says his brain is preoccupied, that he's always thinking about his work, and that many persons mistake his preoccupation for snootiness. He's a generous and fair boss and gets his hands extra jobs when ha can. He even pays his cast and writers when they do benefits, although Benny is not paid for such work.
His feud with Fred Allen, of course, is just a gag. They really are good friends.



Benny reads detective stories and other frothy stuff. He likes to think of himself as a gourmet, but actually his appetite is very easy to please. He does know good coffee, and makes his own. He also enjoys malted milks and likes to cat at drive-in restaurants—those places where you park and eat in your car. He eats anything, but is apt to sample your food. He eats when he gets hungry and eats what he wants.
His favorite exercise is walking, and he takes long jaunts with his trainer, Harvey Cooper. He plays golf, too. And terribly! He makes fun of the game while he plays it, and usually knocks off about the tenth hole.
He enjoys driving his own car, and owns three. On his recent trip to Europe, he left his Buick in Chicago, and all during his European jaunt he kept talking about how much fun he would have driving from Chicago to California.
Benny can sleep anywhere and in anything. If he's tired after a party, he'll sleep a few winks on the divan in his clothes before he heeds Mary's order to undress and relax. He never uses a pillow. Mary buys a new hat every week and each is more radical than the other. Those gags of Benny's about his wife's hats are from his heart.
Mary is a very vital person and interested in everything, particularly hats. She smokes moderately and is generous to a fault. She loves movies and attends every preview possible.
She loves fine nightgowns and negligees and is afraid of the dark. She won't be alone for five minutes if she can help it. They have some half a dozen servants, but when Jack is away, her sister or Gracie must stay with her.
Mary is essentially high-strung. Jack pays her a salary and she spends half of it on clothes. She loves tailored underthings and silken doodads. She buys a new dress for each weekly show and her wardrobe is filled with fine clothes and furs.
She sometimes bobbles a line in the show, but the audience never knows it, and the bobbles give Benny some swell ad-lib material. Recently she said, "Can't I be boat's Don" instead of "Don's boat." Jack squeezed five extra laughs out of the mistake and the audience thought the line was planted.
Jack is allergic to roses. They make him sneeze. A fan sent him a basket of roses at a recent broadcast and Benny was on a spot. He didn't want to seem ungrateful and he knew the sender was in the audience. So he smelled the flowers, and sneezed so often that his show almost was late.
As a dresser he's inconsistent. He has been voted the second-best-dressed man in America, but he's apt to be mussy at times, with cigar ashes on his front. Robert Taylor asked Benny the name and address of his tailor, and now Taylor goes to Jack's tailor. Phil Harris also is a smooth dresser and goes for hand-embroidered robes.
The Jack Benny Club of Perry, Iowa, voted him the only star who can look handsome in his shirt-sleeves. It’s well enough that his fans can't see him at Saturday rehearsals. The cast meets at Benny's house and sits around a long table. Jack is at the head of the table, dressed in a pair of gabardine slacks, a tan camel's-hair sweater and a tweed coat. Morrow and Beloin wear rumpled sports clothes. Mary probably will be dressed in a navy blue blouse and slacks, with a bandana on her head. Andy Devine will be in blue dungarees and Don Wilson will wear flannel golf slacks and a polo shirt. Phil Harris probably will be the best-dressed of the pack, with a bright sweater and glen-plaid trousers.
When Benny began his gags about his Maxwell automobile, he had no idea so many of the cars still are in operation. Bui owners of the orphan cars have sent him more than a hundred hub-caps from old Maxwells.
Every room in the Benny home, except the dining-room, has a fireplace.
A Benny joke seldom fails, but Jack tells of the time he flopped.
"I was at the Academy of Music," he said. "I walked onto the stage and said, 'Hello, everybody." I got the raspberry. So I said, ‘Good-by, everybody,’ and walked off and kept right on walking until I got home."
Jack poses as a tightwad in his show, but he's really a soft touch. He gave away $1,500 in two days to not-so-lucky friends during a recent visit to New York.
Several years ago he and Mary adopted a daughter, Joan Naomi, who now is about five. Jack's funniest act is seen only by her and Mary. He romps and yells with her and converts his home into a madhouse. She went to one of his rehearsals and saw him do a line several times. Finally she said, "Why didn't you do it right the first time?"
Benny is not a joiner. He belongs to the American Legion, however. He was slated to fiddle while Rome burned at the Los Angeles American Legion convention. He had his fiddle and was ready. Rome was to be a pyrotechnic display. But something went haywire and the fireworks went off too soon. Jack barely escaped injury.
His radio income is approximately $15,000 a week for thirty-nine weeks. He gels $170,000 a picture and has two slated for this year.
His net income, therefore, is one of the highest in the United States. His income tax runs eighty-five percent.
"I don't give a hang how much money Uncle Sam takes in income taxes," Benny said, "as long as he leaves me enough to live on comfortably, as I do now. Uncle Sam can have the rest, and more, if I am able to make it."
Noble sentiments, Brother Benny. He has proved that if a man speaks a better gag the world will beat a pathway lo his door. But he knows something else that's far more important—that the same path leads away from the door, and the world will retrace its steps if a man is not worthy.
Jack Benny may be heard Sunday night on NBC at:
7:00 p.m. EDT – 6:00 p.m. EST
6:00 p.m. CDT – 5:00 p.m. CST
8:30 p.m. MST – 7:30 p.m. PST

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.