A Cat, A Greek God and a Robot

Felix the Cat was, as far as I’m concerned, the biggest cartoon star of the silent era. But sound animated shorts came in by late 1928 and some bonehead management decisions left Felix behind.

There was a late catch-up by adding some background music and effects onto cartoons already made but the cat couldn’t attract a big distributor; they had all latched onto real sound cartoon characters. An attempt in 1936 by Van Beuren to bring him back suddenly ended after three cartoons (and others in various states of production) when the studio shut down.

However, Felix continued to appear in the comic pages and in 1958 was being drawn by Joe Oriolo. There was still life in him. There were also successful attempts to make cartoons cheap enough that they could be aired on television. Quality wasn’t necessarily a watchword. Ask Bucky and Pepito. But UPA had animated special shorts for CBS’ short-lived Boing-Boing Show, TV Spots had (thanks to underhanded corporate muscle) revived Crusader Rabbit and Hanna-Barbera’s Ruff and Reddy were appearing Saturday mornings on NBC. Let’s not forget Spunky and Tadpole and Colonel Bleep. Soon a deal was put together for Felix’s comeback.

The Hollywood Reporter informed readers on July 1, 1958:

TRANS-LUX TO SPEND $1,750,000 TELEFILMING ‘FELIX THE CAT’ New York.—Trans-Lux Television Corp. is branching out into TV production with 100 percent financing of a series of “Felix the Cat” cartoons to be made in Eastman color by Felix the Cat Productions, Inc., headed by Pat Sullivan, who has sold Trans-Lux TV rights in perpetuity. Dick Brandt, Trans-Lux president, says his company is prepared to spend almost $1,750,000 for production of 260 four-minute cartoons to be made in series of 52 subjects on which work starts this week. Cartoons, designed to be joined in groups of three, will be offered for national sponsorship and foreign theatrical release. Sullivan also turns out “Felix” comic strip for King Features and animated commercials. Trans-Lux is also taking over 26 quarter-hour Australian-made animal pictures produced by Artransa.

In its report several days later Broadcasting revealed Trans-Lux had been distributing the Encyclopaedia Britannica library to TV stations for two years and had seven feature films available for television. A fairly modest company.

Production must have been a boon to the New York animation industry. Was there some kind of deal with Paramount to put their artists to work on Felix? The studio’s musical library composed by Winston Sharples was heard on the Felix cartoons. The voice (and occasional writer) of Popeye, Jack Mercer, provided voices for every single character on every single Felix cartoon. Meanwhile, the Herald Tribune on January 12, 1959 reported that full-page ads were appearing in New York newspapers and TV trade publications aimed at 100 major national advertisers. If the makers of the cartoons were cutting corners, the distributor was not when it came to P.R.

Here are two of the ads.



Felix was a bountiful success for Trans-Lux. These are later ads from the 1960s.



Trades reported the Felix studio was shuttered in 1961.

Trans-Lux considered other animation ideas before it hit on The Mighty Hercules. After all, Steve Reeves’ low-budget Hercules feature films had been money-makers. Broadcasting magazine announced on January 29, 1962 a “pilot film has been completed and storyboards laid out for the first dozen programs.” Animator Lew Gifford’s column in Back Stage of March 2nd went into a bit more detail:

Trans-Lux Television Corp. will produce its new $1,500,000 “Mighty Hercules” cartoon package in New York, according to Richard Carlton, vice president, of Adventure Cartoons for Television, Inc.
European capitals and Hollywood were bypassed in favor of New York for the 130 five-and-a-half minute color cartoons. Mr. Carlton said studio and office space has just been signed for a staff of more than 40 persons, including top animators.
A national ad campaign on the series is times to start with initial screenings of the pilot Mar. 5. News of the advance “Hercules” sale to WPIX already has stirred sufficient industry interest to warrant new projections of a total of 195 cartoons by ’63.
“Hercules” is the creation of Moe Leff’s pen, known for his work on “L’il Abner” and his origination of Humphrey Pennyworth, Jerry Leemy and Little Max.
Roger Carlin is executive producer, Joe Oriolo, producer, and Arthur Brooks, production coordinator.
We had a chat with Moe Leff who told us that the firm was opening offices this week at 717 Fifth Ave. Suite 1707 and that studio space had been obtained at 132 West 33 St. Mr. Leff said that a large part of the staff would be recruited from Joe Oriolo’s recently defunct “Felix the Cat” studios.
Mr. Leff, who is also preparing material for several other pilots, said that he personally wouldn’t consider working outside NYC if he could help it and that the tremendous vitality that comes from being here would eventually show through in the quality and spirit of the finished product.

Although Leff’s name is on some trade ads, it doesn’t appear on the finished cartoons. It would appear drastic budget cuts were in order after the pilot film. Jack Mercer was punted and three radio announcers from Montreal provided all the voices. The show was unintentional camp, from Johnny Nash singing “iron in his thighs” in the opening theme, to irritating Newt repeating himself, to the Herc design (supposedly by George Peed) looking suspiciously like Superman in the Fleischer cartoons, to Jimmy Tapp’s droning narration from a room that needed something to deaden the sound.

Some more trade ads. Hercules is as real as ice cream, you know. What would that make Newt? Make Newt?



Finally, Trans-Lux had one more cartoon series to toss at stations with the right amount of money. Variety of September 15, 1965 announced that the company had bought the rights to distribute 52 half-hours Gigantor and had signed WPIX-TV New York and WGN-TV Chicago to air it.

The show was “produced” by Al Singer and Fred Ladd of Delphi Associates but it wasn’t animated in New York. It was an old Japanese show. Back Stage described it as “the story of the ‘world’s mightiest robot’ and its 12-year-old master, Jimmy Sparks. The year is 2000, a period of high scientific achievement and low-down villainy. ‘Gigantor’ tackles his international enemies on land, sea and air, super-powered by jet and electronically controlled by young Jimmy.”

Fred Ladd may be known mostly for bringing Astro Boy and Kimba the White Lion to young American TV audiences before Gigantor (né Tetsujin 28) appeared.

The cartoon debuted on January 5, 1966. Anything that tells you it was on the air in North America in 1964 is incorrect. Historian Harvey Deneroff points out 1964 is when NBC was approached about the series but passed on it.

Trans-Lux pushed the show in full-page ads as well, though not many of them.



If you’ve clicked on the ads, you’ll notice a show called Mack and Myer For Hire. This was a live action series on the lines of old two-reel comedies. They were churned out and if you’re brave enough, you can find some on line and wonder where the laffs are.

As for Trans-Lux, its TV division was swallowed up in 1970 in a stock deal by Schnur Appel of Short Hills, New Jersey. It was a company into, among other things, product licensing. Broadcasting of March 5, 1970 refers to properties including That Show with Joan Rivers and one Felix the Cat.

To me, the Trans-Lux Felix is strictly for those nostalgic people who like Jack Mercer doing falsetto and Winston Sharples’ 1950s Popeye music. The cartoons aren’t entertaining, at least to me, but that shouldn’t be a surprise considering how many were put on the assembly line. I still enjoy the old silent imaginative Felixes. The character is still a good one and perhaps animators will get another crack at bringing him to us again.

Hittin The Trail to Skeleton Land

Hittin’ the Trail to Hallelujah Land is a disjointed, lacklustre 1931 Warners release starring Piggy who is at the controls of a paddle wheeler like Mickey Mouse in Steamboat Willie.

For a while, the cartoon is about Piggy escaping from an alligator (to the background song of “Just a Blue-Eyed Blonde” by Gus Kahn and Ted Fiorito). Then it’s about Uncle Tom and skeletons in a cemetery. Finally, almost at the end of the cartoon, the villain shows up and Piggy has to rescue the girl pig.

The skeletons will likely remind cartoon fans of Disney’s The Skeleton Dance, especially in close-up.



There’s a non-Disney gag in here. A skeleton dog jumps out of a grave and barks. It’s kicked back into the grave. The odd thing is there’s a brief puff of dirt, then the scene quickly cuts away. It’s like something was edited out.

Rudy Ising is the director, Friz Freleng and Paul J. Smith are the credited animators. Joe Young and Rube Bloom wrote the title song in 1931 but for which Warners feature, I have no idea.



Yes, so long folks!

The Dog's Not Safe

The bulldog has possession of the whistle that’s been used to summon the cat that brings bad luck, and he’s going to use it to kill him.

The dog hoists a safe high above a spot to drop on the unsuspecting black cat after signalling him with the whistle. The cat simply moves the “X” that marks the spot. You can see the gag by following the frames below. A white card appears for three alternating frames to give a light effect.



Bad Luck Blackie (1948) is a fun Tex Avery cartoon with animation by Grant Simmons, Louie Schmitt, Preston Blair and Grant Simmons. Rich Hogan was Avery’s gag man.

Nanette

She once had a situation comedy based loosely on her own life, but perhaps Nanette Fabray’s show should have been more of a dramatic one.

She had success on the Broadway stage through the 1940s and early ’50—the newspaper PM profiled her in a full-page article in 1943—then was picked to work opposite Sid Caesar on television. Those were the highs.

But then came fears she was going deaf, divorce from David Tebet (later a TV executive), a nervous breakdown that required hospitalisation, then failure at TV stardom.

She overcame it all, going on to a long, high-profile career appearing on top shows.

Our first stop is December 1, 1955. By then, Fabray had left Caesar’s Hour in a display of public mutual admiration with her ex-colleague but over undisclosed contract problems. She had nothing regular to go to. She did what Imogene Coca did after parting ways with Caesar—became an itinerate TV performer.

Nanette Fabray Now Awaits Own Weekly TV Production
By MARGARET McMANUS
NEW YORK — Nanette Fabray, the second of Sid Caesar's ex-television wives and winner last season of two of the top Emmy TV awards, is currently returning to the medium in a series of guest appearances.
A week ago, on NBC-TV's Saturday night spectacular, she revived the musical "High Button Shoes," in which she starred for a year on Broadway. A few weeks ago she appeared as a special guest on Jack Benny's show. On Dec. 20, she will have a straight dramatic lead in Playhouse 90's production of 'The Family Nobody Wanted," CBS-TV.
Granted these are all important roles on important television shows, but what Miss Fabray wants is a weekly television series. The lady wants a show she can call her own.
"After I left the Caesar show last spring, I knew there wasn't time to get a television show ready for this season," she said, "but I'm working on a filmed series for next fall. I've fallen for television. I'm plain hooked. For me, it's the most exciting and challenging of all entertainment mediums."
The former musical comedy star said that before she joined the regular cast of "Caesar's Hour" last year, she had the required amount of lofty indifference to television and she was certain that the theater would continue to be her true love.
"At first I just couldn't believe it was possible to do a show like 'Caesar's Hour' every week," she said. "It's like putting on a new musical comedy every six days. I was overwhelmed. But once I got into the rhythm of it, I loved it. Professionally, it was so stimulating to be able to meet the demands."
Miss Fabray said that for all the old talk about the intimacy of having an audience just across the footlights from you, there is actually much more sense of contact with the television audience. "The immediate applause of a live audience is rewarding," she said, "but there is a definite aura about people in the theater and in the movies. The audience regards you as a race apart. In television, the audience thinks of the performers as their own special, particular friends.
"That night on the Caesar show when I got conked on the head by a falling beam, NBC had to put on extra switchboard operators to handle all the calls. Twelve different women, each one claiming to be my mother, called from 12 different states, trying to find out exactly how I was.
“They weren't trying to pry or probe. They were terribly concerned. So many people tried to get into the hospital to see me that the hospital finally put a guard outside my door. Can you imagine what this means to a performer? Performers delight in this kind of affection and attention. It's intoxicating!"
A slim, brown-eyed woman, with a kind of wide-eyed prettiness, which should deceive nobody, Nanette Fabray is a tremendously hard-working, determined, gifted actress, with talent for both comedy and drama, plus the ability to sing and dance.
Born in Los Angeles, she made her professional debut at the age of four as Baby Nan, did a vaudeville tour with Ben Turpin, the comedian of silent movies, and had a running part in the "Our Gang" comedies, now bring revived on television.
She has not yet seen herself on television in any of the "Our Gang" comedies and she does not look back on her days as a child star with any particular pleasure.
"It's a terrible thing for a child to have to compete in an adult world," she said. "A child should have to worry about nothing more urgent than which doll to take to walk."
She said she was a student at the Los Angeles Junior College, when she won a scholarship to Max Reinhardt's Dramatic Workshop. This seemed to cinch, once and for all, her destiny for the theater.
"I'd been entertaining hopes of becoming a doctor,” she said, "but this scholarship was worth $3,600 and I couldn't afford to pass it up. I guess I'd have been a poor doctor anyway."
Miss Fabray, who is not married at present, has a house in Beverly Hills, "a large, small house, only six rooms, but big, comfortable rooms." She also keeps an apartment in Manhattan. She is a frequent commuter between here and the Coast and even though she spent ten steady years here on the Broadway stage, she regards California as her home.
"My mother and father live in Los Angeles and I have brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and we're all very close," she said. "But I do get a bit weary of this shuffling back and forth. I like to think that some day I'll get married again and settle down and have a family."
This doesn't necessarily mean she would retire from show business, for television is not incompatible with a domestic family life. And of all the fugitives from Broadway and the movies now on television, no one is more enthusiastic about it than Nanette Fabray.
And since she seems to be one who takes a direct aim at her target and has very few misses, the moral of this tale would seem to be that if Nanette Fabray wants a regular television series, it is merely a matter of time before she gets her chance.
And though it has nothing to do with TV, the stage or screen, Nanette Fabray can even cook—took lessons from the chief chef at the Cordon Bleu.

It took some time, but Fabares got her own, awkwardly-named show, The Westinghouse Playhouse, replacing The Westerner at the star of 1961. It was supposedly taken from her new married life with her step-kids.

“Almost every episode is based on actual happenings in our household,” she told UPI’s Vernon Scott. “It’s very adult and sophisticated.” Cynthia Lowry of the Associated Press disagreed after a viewing. “It was played far too broadly by all concerned, and was full of pretty tired situations and dialogue,” she decided, adding “Nanette Fabray is a great comedienne and seems wasted in the trifle.”

It wasn’t on the schedule for the following season. Fabray continued guest shots, especially with Carol Burnett, and appeared with some frequency on Hollywood Squares. That’s where many viewers noticed her doing sign language when announcer Kenny Williams introduced her.

Here’s a bit of an explanation from a syndicated column of Sept. 14, 1970.

Nanette To Tell Life Of The Deaf
By TOM GREEN
Gannett News Service
HOLLYWOOD — The publicists call her a "lovely lady."
No argument. Nanette Fabray is, indeed, a lovely lady.
She is also a lovely busy lady. In the next month or so, starting with the Broadway musical adaptation of "George M.!" on NBC last Saturday, she is making five special appearances on television.
Among them will be a CBS documentary on deafness to be shown throughout the nation beginning Sept. 22.
In the lobby of the Ambassador Hotel, she sat on the edge of an overstuffed couch giving a demonstration in the difficulty of lip reading.
"See if you can tell what I'm saying," she said.
Her lips moved three times. Each of the words she was forming looked the same.
"Do you know what they were? Pretty, pregnant and present. They all look the same, don't they?"
Nanette Fabray believes that deaf education that concentrates solely on teaching the deaf person to speak at the expense of learning sign language is not right.
"I think the individual need of the child is what's important. Speech is lovely, but education is much more important. Speech comes when the child wants it to. And sign language is very beautiful. It has a grammar and syntax all its own. Kids learn it secretly."
Ask the lady who should know. She was moving toward deafness herself until her hearing was rescued in an operation.
"No one has done a program on what it's like to be deaf. In all the things that have been done they turn off the sound and you lose your audience. In this they use me as a narrator and they show a deaf person driving and going to the store and just coping in everyday situations."
It is obvious that Miss Fabray's work with the deaf is very precious to her. She talks freely about her career as comedienne and her other charitable work, but nothing matches the affection she has for talking about the deaf.
The day before, she had been appointed to the National Advisory Committee for Education of the Deaf. She had gotten congratulations from California Sen. George Murphy.
"I once made a screen test with George Murphy, so I told him now he is a senator and I'm a national advisor."
Add that advisory chore to other assignments with such groups as the National Association of Hearing and Speech Agencies, the UCLA Hearing Foundation, the New York University deafness research center, the National Theater of the Deaf, and much more.
"Of course the roughest part is that you have to show up at board meetings all over the country. But I won't just lend my name to something. I like to work at it."
She is on the board of at least seven national organizations and she admits she runs as much as two to six months behind in her mail.
"I do all my own secretarial work. Well, I can type faster than I can dictate, so that puts me one up. And I have a crazy filing system."
She and her husband, Ronal [sic] MacDougall, the writer-producer who developed "The Name of the Game" series for NBC, live in Pacific Palisades, which is home and office for her.
If there is any interest apart from her work with the deaf that is getting a lot of attention from her these days, it's her membership on the board of the Los Angeles Museum of Science and Industry. "It's amazing that a museum can be so much a part of the lifeblood of a city."
At the museum, she has been involved in a transportation presentation to the city for a monorail system for Los Angeles.
"Alweg built the Disneyland monorail partly to show what could be done. A monorail for Los Angeles has been turned down as not in the public's best interest. But they're talking about adding a bus lane to the freeway. What kind of nonsense is that?"
She is also involved with the museum because her 11-year-old son is taking part in a science workshop program there and is studying things like computers and indexing, radiation and biology. "Honestly, it makes you tear up to hear what the kids do."
Somewhere along the line she manages to work in a full show business career. Like playing George M. Cohan's mother, Nellie, in "George M.!" Or the deaf special. Or a special called "Howdy" with Glenn Ford on ABC Sept. 26.
Or an appearance with Carol Burnett on CBS Sept. 28. Or an ABC movie called "I Don't Want to Get Married" in early October.
"Well, things do go to pot once in awhile. I'm going to have to vacuum the front hall one of these days."
Nanette Fabray has won Broadway's Tony Award and three Emmys for her work with Sid Caesar on television. But those aren't the kinds of things she talks about.
"I'd like to get a total approach to education for the deaf — any means to teach the child the concept of communication—without abandoning strict speech and lip reading training."
That's what Nanette likes to talk about.

Operations gave Fabray her hearing. Producers gave her roles. Fabray was 97 when she passed away in 2018. Variety called her an “exuberant, indefatigable actress-singer.” The Hollywood Reporter dubbed her “the effervescent comedienne.” The New York Times’ assessment was a Tony and Emmy winner with “enthusiastic charm, wide smile and diverse talents.” She was all those, and deserved accolades for her work to support and lobby on behalf of others who couldn’t hear the applause they gave her.

Brodie's Hands

Art Davis directed only one Bugs Bunny cartoon, Bowery Bugs (1949) and there are a few interesting things about it.

For one thing, there are a bunch of animation-saving stills for almost the first minute of the cartoon. For another, Lloyd Turner and Bill Scott’s plot involves Bugs being a con-rabbit in New York City. It’s a nice change and a very appropriate setting for him. On top of that, Bugs adversary isn’t a gun-toting danger like Sam or Elmer, but is still a threat and good for one animated short. Billy Bletcher was the best choice for his voice.

Davis’ pacing and timing will never be mistaken for a Freleng or Jones cartoon with Bugs, but seems fine for this short. A few verbal jokes are a little hokey but not treated as punch lines; they’re said without any real emphasis and the music and action carries on.

Emery Hawkins, Basil Davidovich, Bill Melendez and Don Williams are the credited animators. They aren’t as wild as they got in a few other cartoons for Davis, like with Shakespearean dogs or Daffy Duck. Here’s how Steve Brodie goes from one pose to the other. It’s animated on twos. I like the brushwork on the hand outlines.



Don Smith handled layouts with Phil DeGuard painting the backgrounds.

As I have opined before, I wish Davis had directed more Bugs Bunny cartoons but I suspect studio politics got in the way.

Don't Simonize Your Car! Feminize It!

The censor appears to have been at work on the Willie Whopper cartoon Play Ball (1933).

The Sultan of Swat swats one of Willie’s pitches over the fence. Willie jumps over the fence and races after the ball in a flivver.



In the background, you’ll see a billboard for Barko. Next to it is a building with Chinese characters above the shuttered windows. Yes, the ball park is in Chinatown.



Naturally, this means a laundry gag. Willie runs into a laundry man.



When the laundry clears, there’s a shot of the flivver wearing a bra and panties.



But the shot lasts two seconds before a cut, hardly enough to register. Even though Carl Stalling’s music in the background maintains the beat (“Good night, Ladies” is on the soundtrack) it seems clear the censor thought this was too naughty and the gag was cut. Sex was bad then. Racial stereotypes were just fine. Hey, Willie throws baseballs at black people. Fun-ny!

Babe Ruth is portrayed in this cartoon with a pig nose. We presume the Iwerks animators were Brooklyn Dodgers fans.

Tex and Jinx and Jack

Tex McCrary and Jinx Falkenburg were a married couple with a pleasant little chat show on New York radio after the war. She had been a model and an actress, Tex was a newspaper reporter. Soon, they were put on the NBC radio network and then given a TV show in April 1947. For some months, about all that was on during the daytime hours was Tex and Jinx.

The pair also had a newspaper column in the Herald Tribune where they talked with celebrities and people in the news. Jack Benny made a trip to New York in early 1950 to do a pair of radio shows, and one of his stops was at a restaurant where, for a gag, Jinx picked up the cheque.

Spending was pretty much the topic that the two explored with Jack in a column published February 5, 1950. The column was written as if Tex handled one part and Jinx did the other. The two seem obsessed with exclamation marks.

Hedda Hopper reported in May 1949 that Jack was testing for Father of the Bride with Jane Powell. Liz Taylor and Walter Pidgeon were originally supposed to have the roles, though Pidgeon claimed to Hedda he had never heard of the picture. By June Jack was pretty much out of the picture for reasons she never explained.

To me, the biggest revelation is trivial but interesting. Jack talks about his real butler. I gather his early risings to walk around Beverly Hills are one reason why he ate with his staff.

NEW YORK CLOSE-UP
IN THE year 1932, two world-famous Americans discovered network radio—Franklin D. Roosevelt, candidate for the Presidency, and a young vaudeville headliner named Benny Kubelsky of Broadway and Waukegan, Ill. Both became quick masters of the fireside chat. Among statesmen, Roosevelt scored the highest Hooper rating; among comedians, the highest Hoopers still belong to Kubelsky—better known as Jack Benny.
Today, Jack Benny’s trademarks are as familiar as Uncle Sam’s chin whiskers or dollar sign—his stinginess, his violin, Rochester and Mary—are all part of American folklore.
“Pinching pennies on the radio costs me a lot of money every year—just in tips alone. If I heave a normal tip, people say ‘Lookit him! What a spender!’ So I have to leave as big a tip as I would if I’d made my money in Texas oil wells.
“And what’s worse, it’s the same for everybody who works for me—they all have to be twice as generous as normal people, just to prove Jack Benny isn’t really selfish. That gag costs my whole gang plenty!
“Only once did it ever work out right for me. We went to Earl Carroll’s night club one evening, and of course I checked my hat and coat. At the end of the evening, I went to pick it up and gave the hat check girl a crisp new dollar bill for a tip. She was very upset . . . handed it back to me. She asked me please to leave her at least one illusion!
“Of course, I have no real grudge against the gag—it’s the greatest gimmick for laughs in the business. There’s no other situation in comedy that can get more laughs than stinginess!”

Jack speaks of comedy the way technicians would talk about the hydrogen bomb—he is a master of punch lines and timing. Sure-footed as a mountain goat now, much of his career was sheer accident.
His father gave him two presents at the same time—a plumber’s monkey wrench and a violin. If he had followed the wrench to its logical destiny, he might have would up as a big industrialist and a sponsor; if he had stuck to the violin seriously, he might have wound up in Toscanini’s symphony orchestra, still on N. B. C.!
“The trouble was, I always wanted to play instead of practice,” Jack recalls. “And one more thing—I found out that when I extended my little pinky on the bow, people would laugh!”
That’s how comedians are born. But it was not the violin, but stinginess that sparked Jack’s longest and loudest laugh: Bandits were holding him up. One of them snarled: “Your money or your life!” No word from Jack. The bandit jammed his gun deeper into Jack’s ribs and barked once more: “Your money or your life—and hurry up!” Said Jack Benny, “Wait a minute, I’m thinking it over!”
Digging back into his memories, Jack unearthed another important crossroads in his career:
“I might have wound up as a fifth to the four Marx Brothers—I was playing the fiddle in the orchestra in Waukegan and the Marx Brothers came through our town. Their mother asked me if I would like to travel with them as their director—my mother wouldn’t let me leave. Oh, sure I’ve reminded them of it since, but they don’t remember it. I play golf with Groucho all the time, and he says the whole thing must have been his mother’s idea!”
Proximity has been a potent force in Benny’s career—his wife Mary used to work in the May Company store across the street from the Orpheum in Los Angeles, and Mary’s sister was the match-maker. Now she’s a pillar of his show.
Even the reserved Ronald Colmans have not been immune to Benny’s magic chain reaction—repeated guest performances by the Colmans on the Benny show revealed their unsuspected vein of pure humor—and now even though Benny has moved to C. B. S., Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Colman are on N. B. C., with a brand new comedy show of their own, called “Halls of Ivy.” Mr. Colman plays the part of a college president, but he would be the first to admit that like his fellow alumni, Phil Harris and Dennis Day, his most valuable degree should read “BB”—by Benny. TEX.
Postscript
Thousands of Americans and all Englishmen think that Rochester is really Jack Benny’s butler. Just for the record, Jack explains:
“Our real butler’s name is Donald, a white-haired, sweet, very dignified Englishman. I generally have breakfast with Donald, and the other help, very early, in the kitchen. Why? Because it’s warmer in the kitchen.
“And it’s fun—they think I can do no wrong. My wife, Mary, and her sister in Chicago are my worst critics.”
Movie critics have been rough on Jack’s screen ventures; we asked him if he had ever thought of risking his radio reputation by tackling a play on Broadway, where critics can make or break you. “I’d love to try a play—but I’d hate to move everything from California for what might be a one-week run!”
There had been rumors that Jack would be the star of the movie version of “Father of the Bride”—patting his balding head, he spikes that rumor: “I was considered for the part, but they gave it to somebody else . . . said I was too young for the role.”
For still photographs, every star has a “favorite side” for profile shots; I asked Jack which was his for our Close-up picture: “Doesn’t matter any more, Jinx—I’m bald on both sides now.” JINX

That Loafing Mighty Mouse

Terrytoons don’t exactly have a reputation as fine-grained cartoons, but a few people showed long-term dedication to the studio. Directors Connie Rasinski and Manny Davis come to mind. So does background artist Art Bartsch. And then there’s Tommy Morrison, who not only worked on stories, but shouted the words “Here I come to save the day.” (He didn’t sing for Mighty Mouse. That was Roy Halee).

After CBS shut down (rather foolishly, in my opinion) the Terrytoons studio in New Rochelle around 1970, Morrison retired to—where else?—Florida. While Paul Terry, who owned the studio into the mid-‘50s before selling to the network, may have been a cheapskate, Morrison doesn’t seem to have suffered as a result.

A future Associated Press entertainment writer met up with Morrison to talk about his years in animation. This was published (with drawing) in the Fort Myers News-Press of October 20, 1975. Ignore the headline that tries to equate animation with a comic strip. If you’re looking for dirt on Paul Terry, there isn’t any. It’s not quite the point of the story. And Morrison gives no credit to Gene Deitch for Tom Terrific. I’m pretty positive a creative person like Deitch would have had some input into that debut cartoon, especially since the character was his brainchild.

Cartoonist Strips Away Career
By FRAZIER MOORE
Cape Coral Bureau
When he and his wife moved to Cape Coral 2 1/2 years ago, he left behind a flock of cartoon luminaries including Mighty Mouse, Deputy Dawg, Heckle and Jeckle, and Tom Terrific— personalities he helped father during four decades of putting fantasies on film.
Now Tom Morrison, 67, lives the life of a loafer.
That's how he describes his current leisurely existence, based on hardly more than the bounce of a tennis ball from the courts of the Yacht Club, where Morrison spends part of nearly every day wielding his racket.
"I've never had it so good," he declares in his tight New York accent.
Meanwhile, his whimsical compatriots live on in more than 1,000 Terrytoons cartoons Morrison helped produce during a career spanning 41 years.
And if his career is behind him, his affection for the profession lives on.
"It's a challenging art form," he says of cartooning. "It's a combination of music and visual arts and acting. And even math.
"All animation is controlled by math," he explains. "It's a matter of speed how you space the drawings to create the illusion of motion."
From the outset, Morrison possessed an interest in theater and writing and acting.
"But my family had other ideas—they wanted me to go into business. So I went to Wall Street."
He was just in time for the '29 Crash.
"I went through the panic," he recalls, "and I nearly developed an ulcer at an early age.
"I saw a chief order clerk jump off the building because she made a mistake on an order. A junior partner shot himself in his office. People were that high-strung. And I said to myself, 'This isn't for me.' "
It so happened that Paul Terry, a pioneer cartoon producer, was a neighbor. He offered the erstwhile financier a job in his firm, and soon Morrison found himself steeped in the company's frantic effort to polish off a new cartoon every two weeks.
Although for years Terrytoons' product was channelled toward movie theaters, as short subjects began to vanish from the local bijous, television was emerging as the new market. In 1956 the CBS network purchased the entire Terrytoons operation.
One of the first projects Terrytoons tackled under the new ownership was creating for the network a cartoon serial to boost the audience for a new and rather shaky children's show called "Captain Kangaroo."
Morrison also wrote the pilot script for "Tom Terrific" (not to mention the lyrics for its jingle: "I'm Tom Terrific,/The greatest hero ever./Terrific is the name for me,/'cause I'm so clever. . .")
For over a decade the enormously successful "Captain Kangaroo" series was further brightened by the exploits of this precocious lad with the funnel cap and the lackadaisical canine companion named Mighty Manfred.
By then, Morrison's role at Terrytoons was that of creative director. Besides writing, he bought and edited story material from freelancers, hired voice talent, supervised recording, and assisted the music director.
"But I did very little sketching," Morrison says. "People down here think I was primarily an artist—they say, 'Draw Mighty Mouse.' But the actual drawing I had little to do with."
He did nearly everything else, however, and he can still brandish a pencil or pen, sweeping strokes across a sketch pad to make Mighty Mouse or Tom Terrific magically appear.
And as another indication of his numerous abilities he'll demonstrate the voice he lent to Mighty Mouse when that notable rodent chose to speak: "Hi, kids," Morrison says with wide eyes and his finger spearing the air, "we've got a great show for you today."
But these days, Morrison thinks the shows aren't so great. He terms the current generation of cartoons "hackwork."
"TV ruined the art of animation," he says. "The wonderful life-like movements that necessitated so many drawings just couldn't be accomplished on TV economically."
Furthermore, he objects to the indiscriminate banishment of violence for children's programming.
"It was a vicarious release for kids," he says of cartoon violence. "It provided exciting adventure where kids could live it without doing it. It was the little guy winning over the big guy.
"Surrounded by all those big adults telling them what to do," he says, "kids got their kicks over the little mouse beating the big cat."
As a specialist in both kids and cartoons, Morrison should know. He with his wife Betty have two daughters and a son, and boast nine grandchildren.
And then, of course, there are those 1,000 cartoons.
But lengthy friendships are hard to break, and yacht club members are advised not to be thunderstruck on finding Morrison engaged in a frenzied tennis match with a tiny flying figure in a scarlet cape.

Morrison enjoyed retirement for only a few more years. He was born in New York City on April 22, 1908 and died in Cape Coral on March 1, 1978.

That Duck!

A Nazi comes across a limp-wristed mouse in the Snafu cartoon Fighting Tools (1943).

The mouse drops to the ground, holding his nose. But wait a minute! What’s coming out of that cannon?

Could that be Daffy Duck? Or is director Bob Clampett just re-using Daffy’s design?

I say the latter, but there are fans who insist that if it looks like a character, it must be the same character (eg. a skunk in an Art Davis must be Pepe Le Pew even though it doesn’t act like him in the slightest).

Since this is a Clampett cartoon, there has to be a pop culture reference. One of the ducklings flies back and says “Rallly they are” like Kate Hepburn before zipping out of the cartoon.

The cartoon ends with Snafu captured naked and becoming a horse’s rear end, with music to match.

Musical Mickey

While the Fleischers were filling their cartoons with surreal gags in the early ‘30s, Walt Disney was still having cheerful Mickey Mouse playing various objects like musical instruments.

Mickey Steps Out (1931). It opened with the mouse shaving, and “playing” the sink with his razor, with percussion noises provided by banging the toilet seat up and down. The only gag (at least I think it’s supposed to be one) is when Mickey loses his soap in the toilet.



The next little sequence has Mickey on a wooden sidewalk (the slats are alternately white and grey) like he’s on a xylophone (which is what you hear in the background). I guffawed and roared when I saw him trip over a rock and momentarily lose his straw hat. Okay, I didn’t. But someone must have because the scene uses the same “humour” twice, along with Pluto jumping on Mickey and shoving him into a mud puddle.



Cut to Minnie playing the obligatory piano and Mickey whistling along with her bird. Then we see some singing birdies.



The cartoon is at the halfway mark. I think I’ll watch Bimbo instead.