Phil Harris: Not Thinking or Drinking

Phil Harris would stroll onto the stage and tell Jack Benny’s radio audience that now that he was here, things were going to liven up.

And he was right.

The other characters on the Benny show were fairly sedate. Phil wasn’t. And when Harris was let go from the show in 1952, it was never really the same. He was replaced with Bob Crosby who was, well, sedate.

Harris was dealing from a position of strength in 1950 when his contract was coming up for renewal. CBS had been grabbing big names from the NBC roster and General Sarnoff's network finally made a move to keep the ones that were left. Fred Allen stayed, though he had no show any more. So did Harris, even though his sponsor was about to dump him for a less-costly program. The New York Times caught up with him and published this story on February 5, 1950.

This is the first place I’ve seen that Jack Benny thought the Harris-Faye show would fail. Also, Phil fails to acknowledge his show came out of the dumps when Ray Singer and Dick Chevillat replaced the original writers. They made Phil less of a party animal like he was on the Benny show, and a little more of a not-always-on-the-ball guy kind of caught in the middle of off-the-wall schemes.

HE HAS AN ALLERGY TO THINKING
By VAL ADAMS
If there is any difference in Phil Harris on and off the air, the one on the radio is the real man. There are a few exceptions, of course, such as his insistence that “I never did drink that much, though.”
It is only natural to wonder if Harris away from the microphone is an intellectual giant, given to deep meditation. His confession paints no such picture.
“I don’t like to have nothing to do with thinking,” he says. “I don’t even like to talk business.”
The matter of business, however, is one of the major reasons why Harris and his wife, Alice Faye, now are visiting New York. If Phil can survive a little business talk for a while, he is expected to come out of it with a long term contract which would make his show an exclusive property of the National Broadcasting Company. Such a deal would present him with more money than he ever made shooting dice.
The Harris-Faye show is now in its fourth season on NBC as a Sunday feature at 7:30 p.m. When he went out on his own in 1946, both the experts on Radio Row and Jack Benny were extremely skeptical that Phil could last, although the Waukegan wit offered his blessing. “But even today,” says Phil, “one of the biggest mysteries in Jack’s life is how I’ve been able to survive. Jack said to me: ‘You were built up as a booze hound and a woman chaser, a guy in the gutter. How could a character like that get anywhere with his own show? It’s true you did a switch to being a family man with a wife and kids, but you’re still the same guy you always were. How that can last in radio I don’t know.’”
“Even a Seal”

Whatever the mystery, the show has survived in the face of many obstacles. It got off to a pretty horrible start, although Phil insists there has been little change in the original idea. Although crisis arose when Benny switched to CBS, leaving the Harris-Faye team no coat tail on which to rise. “Even a seal could pull a Hooper behind Benny,” comments Phil. “We were glad to see what we could do without the help of his show and against terrific competition like ‘Amos ‘n’ Andy’ on the Columbia network.”
A central character on the show is Frankie Remley, a guitar player and long time bosom buddy of Phil’s, a part played on the air by Elliott Lewis. The character is lifted straight out of Phil’s life, for there is a real Frankie Remley, a guitar player, who has been with Harris since 1922.
Soon after the show began, Phil wanted to work the real Remley into the series. At rehearsal one day he handed Frankie a page of script and told him to read it.
“It was terrible,” Harris recalls. “I told him to relax, just take it easy, and read it again. The second time was worse than the first. Later I found out the reason. About six months before, Remley had eye trouble and bought glasses. But he was embarrassed and didn’t tell anybody. . . . only wore them at home. When I gave him the script he could hardly see the page, much less read the words. He got sore about it and hasn’t forgiven me to this day.”
After that, the role was assigned to Lewis, who, incidentally, had never played comedy before. Many of the incidents involving Phil and the radio Frankie have been built from real life experiences encountered over the last twenty-five years. In private life, the actual Remley refers to Phil as “Curly,” just as the radio character does.
Corn Bread
Harris was born in Linton, Ind., forty-eight years ago, but was bought up in Nashville, Tenn., where he graduated from high school. When he talks or sings enthusiastically of black-eyed peas, turnip greens of corn bread, he is being legitimate. Such a diet turns up regularly at the Harris home, and even Alice has been won over.
Phil started out in the band business as a drummer. The first orchestra he ever led was known as the “Dixie Syncopators.” It is doubtful that any of Phil’s bands were any great shakes as musical organizations, but the personality of their leader kept them in business.
“My band was never on top,” Phil admits. “I never made any money in the band business and on some dates I only got scale or the minimum union rates. When Alice and I got married in 1941 I quit playing any more dates and she left pictures for a while. We wanted to settle down and have a family.”
The Harrises have two children—Alice, 7, and Phyllis, 4, who, according to their father, run the house and break up any fights between him and Alice. The youngsters are television enthusiasts, just as Phil is, and he had to buy a second TV set so he and the children could watch different programs at the same time. As for Western movies on video, the children’s favorite is “Hopalong Cassidy,” over all other stars, a matter that had Phil puzzled for days and caused him to go into one of his rare thinking spells.
“I couldn’t understand,” he comments, “why the kids are so crazy about Hopalong Cassidy over all the other cowboys on television. I studied and studied and finally I figured it out. Hoppy rides a white horse and they can always spot him. Bill Boyd ought to put that horse away in camphor.”

Okay, I Won't Axe You

There’s nothing like a good Tralfaz sighting. And there’s precious little else that’s good in Don’t Axe Me, released in early 1958 by Warner Bros.

Here’s a scene in the kitchen of the Fudd residence. Mrs. Fudd (June Foray) has the same voice affectation as her husband. Gwacious! But you’ll note background artist Bill Butler has “Tralfaz” on a calendar.



This is from Bob McKimson’s unit, the post-shutdown version that made cartoons with weak stories and dull animation. Tedd Pierce put down his martini at Brittingham’s long enough to come up with an odd story. Elmer Fudd has a pet dog, who has the standard McKimson dog design. But he also has a pet duck. Let me “axe” something, Tedd. A pet duck?? That Elmer feeds in a dish like a dog or cat??

The pet duck in this happens to be Daffy, who has evidently been watching cartoons where the doppelganger dog gets victimised by Foghorn Leghorn. He repeats a routine from I can’t remember which cartoon where he puts a plate cover over the dog’s head, bangs on it, and the dog’s head shakes around. If this had been the earlier McKimson unit, where everyone flails around, the animation might have been a bit more fun. Here are some drawings.



What’s even weaker than this is Daffy leaps into the air and runs off. Not only do we not get a whole pile of crazy Daffy animation but Daffy yells “Quack, quack, quack, quack.” What? “Quack”? What happened to “Hoo Hoo!”? That’s what Daffy says. He even says it later in the cartoon! Tedd, what were you thinking?

Before the Tralfaz sighting we get another poorly paced routine. The dog decides to play charades with Mrs. Fudd (who proves two people with the same speech impediment are not twice as funny as one). The sequence just drags on. Then the dog gets frustrated and starts shouting at her. Why didn’t he just talk to her to begin with instead of playing charades for almost 50 seconds of screen time? Tex Avery pulls off the same gag in Drag-a-long Droopy with the cow going “Moo, moo, moo! Baa, baa, baa!” But because Avery plays the scene shorter and faster, the cow speaking English is funny because it comes out of nowhere.

The second half is a little better than the first. Pierce borrows the old “shaving towel takes off the face” bit, and there’s a half-hearted version of the “He’s in there! He’s in there!” routine, undermined by the fact the dog has decided to go back to barking only. But the plot has Elmer pointing his rifle at Daffy, then the scene fades out. But it turns out he didn’t shoot Daffy. The next we see of the Duck, he’s still alive and in a roasting pan. After hearing the Fudds’ dinner guest is a vegetarian, the duck stalks out of the scene and the cartoon ends with a fade out.

Bob Gribbroek is the layout artist on this cartoon. Tom Ray, who had been working at various studios since the 1930s, gets his first Warner Bros. credit on this cartoon along with Ted Bonnicksen and George Grandpré, with Warren Batchelder likely assisting.

I feel bad about dumping on the McKimson unit’s cartoons. Bob McKimson seems to have gotten the short end at Warners. Friz Freleng orchestrated a switch in writers, and McKimson ended up with one who liked the sauce too much. McKimson’s unit was shut down several months before the studio closed for the last half of 1953 and when it reopened, there was no indication the unit would be brought back. When it was, even his own brother Chuck wouldn’t return to work for him. Too much time had passed, perhaps. One of his animators died on him. For a short time, his layout artist and background painter were having a hissing match. McKimson complained the front office kept assigning him castoffs, though certainly Ray and Batchelder were no lightweights (Ray ended up in the Jones unit). For several years, his layouts were by Bob Givens, who was no slouch.

It's arguable that the other directors at Warners had their best cartoons behind them by the late ‘50s, too. And by every account McKimson was a decent man, and a respected animator. But, for me, the laughs became fewer and farther between the longer he remained as a director. And the less said about things like The Great Carrot Train Robbery (1969), the better.

The Fairest in the Land?

The wicked queen demands to know from her magic mirror who the fairest in the land is now that Betty Boop is enclosed in a cake of ice. The Fleischers show wonderful imagination by not having the mirror give the old Bronx cheer. Instead a bird comes out of the mirror’s mouth and does it. The queen vibrates in two drawings.

The mirror collapses and explodes, with the smoke turning the queen into a beast.

Snow-White (1933) has got to be one of the greatest cartoons of all time. Cab Calloway’s singing, loads of morphing gags that never stop, the brilliant background during the “St. James Infirmary Blues” scene. To think only a few years later, Betty’s cartoons were handed over to a hyperactive puppy.

Outline Cat

Tom is in such a hurry to give a diamond ring to his would-be girl-friend, his outline arrives before the rest of him in Blue Cat Blues (released in 1956).



The animators are Ken Muse, Ed Barge, Irv Spence and Lew Marshall. Bob Gentle provided the modernistic backgrounds with layouts by Dick Bickenbach. Paul Frees is the uncredited voice of Jerry, who is narrating.

The Jumping Jack

Exercise programmes go back to the beginning of radio in the early 1920s. They were tailor made for television and slid into the new medium. Maybe the best-known TV exercise gurus was Jack LaLanne.

His daily show (actually, it ran for 15 minutes in the evening) started out in late September 1953 on KGO-TV, sponsored by the Kevo-Etts Co., makers of exercise equipment. He got praise in Variety: “His light touch of humor and blithe manner lifts stanza from the ranks of a more common exercise programme.” LaLanne was a shrewd self-promoter (his handcuffed swim to Alcatraz in 1955 made newspaper headlines—then he got extra publicity by having footage of it aired on You Asked For It) and managed to parlay his show into syndication in 1959.

LaLanne was around long before 1953. He was already known in World War Two for his bodybuilding exploits. He wasn’t overseas at Guadalcanal, though. He was in Idaho, getting the troops in fighting shape. Here’s a story from the Twin Falls Times-News, February 24, 1944.

ON THE SPORT FRONT
If you see a sailor gent about town whose chest looks quite a bit too large for his body that's Jack Lalanne—not "Sweet" Lalanne of the song or football fame but Lalanne, the weight lifter.
He's stationed" at the Sun Valley convalescent hospital where he is doing almost magical things in the development of men's bodies, some thing that he began doing years ago with his own and others at his two gyms in Oakland, Calif.
Ye Olde Sport Scrivener has been interested in weight-lifting and weight-lifters for some time, not that he has ever participated in the sport but because of the near mlr acles he has seen it perform.
For instance there was that friend of the pudgy one who took up the sport because of the promise of a weight-lifter that it woufd alleviate the after-effects of his bouts with the flowing bowl such as an over sized bay window and the dark brown taste that persisted in appearing in his mouth each morning. And you know this old word puddler klnda envied that guy because the weight-lifter made good on his promise.
Lalanne probably has performed such pleasant miracles. Up at Sun Valley he promises the sailors that if they will follow his methods with the larse array of bars and dumb bells he has installed there he'll put three more inches on their chests and an inch on their muscles although he's done considerably more along that line on himself.
YOSS hasn't interviewed Mr. La lanne on the subject but if he's like other weight-lifters to whom this writing gent has talked, he'll emphatically deny that his course with the bars and dumbbells makes for the so-called muscle boundness as most everyone thinks. Rather, he'll tell you that his course will allow a subject to handle his body more easily and gracefully.
Lalanne started in the weight lifting business on himself when he was 13 years of age and found it so beneficial that he took it up as a career so that others might also benefit.
He claims three weight lifting records. The one of which he is the most proud is the hand stand press-up that he boosted from 26 to 42 pounds. He also has done 165 pounds in the two-arm pull-up and 215 pounds in the right-arm get-up.
All of which Ye Old Sport Scrivener notes is quite "sweet," even though this Lalanne hasn't that prefixed to his name like the lady in the song or the football player.

LaLanne’s TV show was ingeniously low-budget, even by standards of the era. An organ played as LaLanne went through his routine with minimal props and an almost immobile camera (one version had a cute animated opening). And it lasted for years.

Here’s a syndicated newspaper column from April 22, 1974. If the writer hoped LaLanne would talk about himself, he was wrong. LaLanne tries to get his messages across instead.

Exercise Key To Shape-Up For Miladies
By GEORGE RAMOS
Copley News Service
LOS ANGELES—“All right ladies,” the television set commands, “here’s one exercise to firm up that back porch. “That’s it, one-two, one-two...”
With organ music in the background, women in all shapes, sizes and ages try to keep up with the trim-looking man who is stretching, jumping and bending on the screen.
For 22 years, Jack LaLanne has been dealing with people’s soft “back porches" and sagging “front gates” in front of television cameras in the name of good nutrition and plenty of exercise.
LaLanne acts, looks and exercises like a frisky kid in his teens.
And most people express shock, he conceded, when they find out he is 59 years old.
"Really though, it isn’t how you look, it’s how you feel," said LaLanne in enthusiastic tones. “If you feel great, you are great.
“I get up every morning at 4:30 a.m. to work out a couple hours in the gym. On Saturdays, I get up an hour earlier so I can get out on the golf course.”
LaLanne doesn’t believe everyone has to follow his own vigorous workout schedule, but the TV fitness personality has devised a set of exercises that can be done in the bedroom.
He calls them the "Magic Five.”
“You do these and they’ll get you off to a sparkling day,” LaLanne said.
Without further warning, LaLanne launched into a preacher-like speech about his philosophy on physical fitness and good nutrition.
“The thing is, you see, most people are growing soft,” he began. “They’re eating all of these lousy manufactured foods—soda pop, cookies, cakes, spaghetti and lasagna to name a few.
“You know why people are eating this stuff? Because it's always in front of them . . . the advertisements. Buy this, eat that. People have no discipline. “You need discipline for everything you do and that includes cutting down on eating and exercising more.”
There’s a brief pause and then LaLanne continues with his thought.
“If you use discipline, you can do without these things. Then after awhile, you don’t miss them at all.
“So there you are, you’re not eating this lousy food and you’re exercising to stay fit. Sure you’re tired when you’re finished exercising, but isn’t it a good feeling?"
Above all, LaLanne maintained he is not a “health nut.”
“Who’s going to eat wheat germ and blackstrap molasses all of his life?” he asked.
But he does fervently believe in his philosophy of physical fitness.
“I traveled about 100,000 miles last year on speaking engagements,” LaLanne said. "Recently, I spoke at a symposium held at the American Physical Fitness Research Institute.”
At that symposium, LaLanne talked about how three age groups—young people, middle-aged persons and senior citizens—could exercise to stay fit.
“You should see him talk,” said one LaLanne associate. “He gets up there and I sometimes think those people listening are ready to do 20 sit-ups or something.” LaLanne first got interested in physical fitness as a youth in Oakland.
"I was the weakest-looking kid you ever saw,” he recalled. “At school, the kids took turns beating me up . . . even the girls. I finally dropped out of school because I was so weak.”
A lecture by a physical culturist and nutritionist convinced LaLanne that he had to stop being the weakest kid around.
Since then, LaLanne, who has a flair for publicity to get across his message, is said to have accomplished the following:
—He swam from Alcatraz Island in San Francisco Bay to Fisherman’s Wharf wearing handcuffs.
—He swam the Golden Gale Channel towing a 2,500-pound cabin cruiser.
—He did 1,033 push-ups in 23 minutes on the old television show, “You Asked For it.”
And the list goes on.
Where will it stop for LaLanne?
“Never,” he told an interviewer. “By the way, what do you do for exercise?
“Here’s an exercise for that soft . . ”

LaLanne’s TV presence switched from basic exercises to infomercials pushing juice machines. He went from being an earnest advice guy to a too-enthusiastic pitchman, far more hyper than necessary to plug something that ground up carrots and cauliflower. Two years after writing Live Forever Young, LaLanne was dead. The title was apt. He was 96.

Though some of his accomplishments were stunts, they’re still impressive. And LaLanne did more in his life than a few swimming-strength feats. One thing you’ll notice watching him on old TV clips, whether he’s orchestrating sit-ups or demonstrating a blender, is he’s never, ever negative. Jack LaLanne had a positive attitude. Good for him! And even if your body will always look like a sack of potatoes, that’s something worth emulating today.

A Horse's What?

Answer this quick! How many times did Carl Stalling put that five-note “You’re a horse’s rear end” music in a cartoon? (I say “rear end” because this is a family blog. The kiddies, you know).

I don’t know the answer but it was used in the opening of all the Snafu cartoons that Warners made for the “Army-Navy Screen Magazine” during the war. In fact, it was visualised in a couple of them.

It made an appearance in the trailer for the Snafu series directed by Chuck Jones. The cartoon concludes as you see below, with the animation of the horse “turned around” on the screen. Narrator Frank Graham concludes the cartoon with “This is Snafu.”

I won’t guess who animated the horse.

Bob Clampett went further in Fighting Tools (1943). A Nazi hand grenade blows up Snafu’s jeep, taking his clothes with him. As Mel Blanc, as the Nazi, sings a rhyming limerick, the horse’s you-know-what music plays and the butt end of a horse fades into the picture.



Again, I’ll avoid guessing at the animator here, though Rod Scribner does some fine work on this cartoon.

Puzzled Fish

The lucky ducky (of the cartoon of the same name) beats it across the lake to escape from George and Junior.



The two dogs and their motorboat are so fast, they suck away a path in the lake. The fish react.



Even though Tex Avery's gags are hit-and-miss (the Technicolor gag is brilliant), I still like this cartoon. The animators are Walt Clinton, Grant Simmons, Louie Schmitt and Preston Blair. This was the last short Schmitt animated at Metro. Rich Hogan was Avery's gagman. Lucky Ducky’s release was delayed, judging by trade press stories, until October 9, 1948.

The Scoop on TV Benny

Television slowly but surely emerged in the U.S. after World War Two ended. More and more sets were made, more and more stations went on the air, more and more sponsors put their money into it, meaning more and more stars were dipping their toe in the TV pool and eventually, inevitably, plunging in.

People wanted television. And that’s what they were getting.

By fall 1948, the networks were still broadcasting a limited schedule in limited parts of the country, but the host of radio’s Texaco Star Theatre became a monster hit on the television version of the show. He was Milton Berle. Television never looked back. The question kept being raised—“when are the big radio stars going to have their own TV shows?”

At the time Jack Benny was at, or near, the top of the radio heap. But he kept being asked when he’d make the switch to the new medium. Into 1950 he was pretty much giving the same answer. He sums up his opinion at the time in Ben Gross’ column in the New York Daily News of February 20, 1950.

JACK BENNY DISCLOSES HIS TELEVISION PLANS EXCLUSIVELY FOR NEWS
Jack Benny Talks TV . . . Although CBS' Jack Benny has no definite plans at this moment to enter television, when he does get into it, he will not appear on a weekly basis. "If I am still on radio at the time, I would do a special hour-long video show about four times a year. There is, however, a possibility I may do a couple of telecasts next year." These are the highlights of the latest and the only authoritative statement on this topic prepared by America's No. 1 radio comedian, EXCLUSIVELY for readers of The Sunday News. Millions of fans have been wondering when the Waukegan Wit would finally make the big plunge into video. All kinds of conjectures have been published: that he would start a regular weekly or twice-monthly series next Fall. . . that he would abandon his radio show to devote himself entirely to TV next season, etc., etc.
During his recent visit to New York to consult with CBS, Benny was besieged by newspaper and magazine writers, urging him to clear up the uncertainty. Nothing came from the comic save a few pleasant generalities. Finally, however, Jack made an agreement with Your Reporter: If we would send him a list of questions to which he could dictate his answers at leisure, he would finally consent to tell all. So the questionnaire went to him pronto and now, here, for the first time, are all of Jack's current thoughts on television:
Your Reporter—When do you expect to enter video on a regular basis? Benny—Only when my sponsor feels that television has over-shadowed radio. But I may do a couple of shows next year.
Y. R.—Do you expect to do a series of guest shots first? Benny—I do not expect to do any guest shots on TV until after I get started with my own show.
Y. R.—When you go before the camera, regularly, will it be on a weekly schedule? Benny—If I'm not on radio at the time, I would probably do a half hour show, twice a month. But if I am also on radio, I would only do a special big TV hour about four times a year.
Y. R.—What would be the format of your regular series? Benny—I probably would be the emcee, retaining my radio character, and there would be scenes similar to those on mv weekly broadcasts.
Y. R.—If you go into TV, will you be able to stay on radio? Benny—That all depends on how often I'd have to appear on television. I feel it's impossible to appear often in BOTH mediums and keep it good.
Y. R.—Will you incorporate your radio characters in your TV shows? Benny—Definitely, plus guests and any other new characters I could find.
Y. R.—Who will be your sponsor in video? Benny—I'm pretty sure it will be my present one, the American Tobacco Co. My association with it has been most pleasant.
Y. R.—When will you be ready to make a definite announcement about this and other matters? Benny—Probably within the next year?
Y. R.—What is your favorite TV show? Benny—There are many that I like, but I get a particular kick out of the warm humor of "The Goldbergs."
Y. R.—Who is your favorite video comedian? Benny—It's Ed Wynn. One of the reasons is that he has always been my favorite stage comedian. He is the kind of fellow that you like for himself alone. He is funny, warm and human.
Y. R.—What criticism, if any, have you to make of the current TV producing procedures? Have you any suggestions for improvement? Benny—It would be very difficult for me to make any suggestions for improvement in the technical end, because, after all, 1 know very little about it. However, I am sure that video will improve, just as the early motion pictures and radio did. But when I did my one television show on the Coast last year, even though the result was good, I thought some of the camera movements were unnecessary. I do not believe the technical part of video has to be quite as complicated as they think. I always feel that the camera should never know the joke.
Y. R.—Why should TV make you hesitant, considering your long professional experience? Benny—I'm not hesitant about entering TV. I merely feel it is impossible to do a really good radio show, plus a really good TV show during each and every week. I don't believe any individual is capable of it. Even if I felt it were possible, I wouldn't want to work seven days a week. I like to play golf once in a while.
Y. R.—Do you believe Jack Benny would have a greater appeal on TV than he does on radio? Benny—That's difficult to answer right I now. I would not, however, want to disappoint my fans by giving them the feeling that they were watching a different Jack Benny. I would try to keep my radio character as much as possible. I also believe that my many years of experience on the stage will be a great help.
Y. R.—In your opinion, would your video appearances decrease your movie appeal? Benny—Not if my TV shows were good.
Y. R.—Any other comments, Mr. B? Benny—Television will be the world's most wonderful medium of entertainment. However, 1 think that radio will go on and on. Whichever will offer the better program for a particular half hour will draw the most listeners for that period. Eventually, a good radio show will have a better chance than a mediocre TV one—and vice-versa.

Jack did what he said he’d do. He made four appearances on television in the 1950-51 season (the second one featured a long kiss by Frank Sinatra and Faye Emerson, sending some viewers into apoplexy). Percy Shain of the Boston Globe quoted Jack just days after his death:

“It took me about four shows to get into the swing of it,” he said. “And when they [the critics] jumped all over me on the first show, I was really nervous. Elsa Maxwell said, after the first show: ‘Jack, it stinks.’ But after the fourth one she said: ‘Jack, I was wrong.’”

Benny maintained his radio show through the 1954-55 season and was willing to continue, except he couldn’t find sponsorship money to pay for even a limited schedule of new programmes. It had gone into television.

It took until the end of the ‘50s before Jack went to a weekly schedule and after some bad experiences at CBS and a butt-kicking by Gomer Pyle when he moved to NBC, he went back to TV specials after the 1964-65. His Third Farewell Special was scheduled for January 23, 1975 with rehearsals after New Year’s Day. Pancreatic cancer got him before then. He kept his pledge never to quit show business. The Globe’s Shain quoted him: “I’m too old to retire. What have I got to retire to?”

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.