Mouse Makeover

Once upon a time, there was a man named Amedee Van Beuren who owned the Fables Studios, which made silent cartoons starring, among others, Milton and Rita Mouse.

Here are Milton and Rita in the 1929 cartoon, Jungle Fools.



Then, one day in 1928, along came a gentleman named Walt Disney, who cleverly took advantage of sound when it was married to cartoons that starred Mickey and Minnie Mouse.

Van Beuren liked sound, too, and it seems he liked Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Because, soon, Milton and Rita began to look like, and even sound like, Mickey and Minnie.

Just how many Fables cartoons are we talking about? These are the ones I could find on-line, in order of release.


Singing Saps, February 7, 1930.


Foolish Follies, March 7, 1930 (incidental character).


Western Whoopee, April 10, 1930.


Hot Tamale, August 3, 1930.


Circus Capers, September 28, 1930.


The Big Cheese, October 26, 1930 (incidental character).


The Office Boy, November 23, 1930.


Stone Age Stunts, December 7, 1930.


Cowboy Blues, February 15, 1931 (Milton only).


College Capers, March 15, 1931 (a whole team of them).


Old Hokum Bucket, March 29, 1931 (incidental character).

For reference, here are Mickey and Minnie in The Karnival Kid from 1929.



By the start of 1931, Uncle Walt had (and had seen) enough. In what became a seemingly popular habit, the corporate lawyers went to work.

Here’s the Associated Press’ version of the tale:

“MICKEY” IN COURT
Movie Mouse Producer Sues Alleged Imitators.
LOS ANGELES, March 31— (AP)—Enter Mickey Mouse into the courts.
Mickey, through his production company Walt Disney Productions Ltd., filed suit against Pathe Exchange Inc., and the Van Beuren Corporation, New York, for an injunction to prevent the defendant companies from further use of animated cartoon characters "in any variation so nearly similar as to be mistaken” for the original Mickey and his side kick Minnie.
Further, the company demanded an accounting damages and surrender of all profits made on the alleged imitations.
Mickey contended his alleged double is doing all sorts of things he (Mickey) wouldn't think of doing, and has brought down on the bewildered creators of Mickey a flood of Irate letters and complaints.| Disney set forth he saw various “Aesop’s Fables” in which Mickey was imitated in a "jerky and amateurish style, ugly, unattractive and lacking in personality,” further that representations of the Van Beuren organization threatened to put him out of business unless he entered a contract with them.
Disney's suit was supported by several affidavits, one of which, made by Mr. and Mrs. E. H. Holton, recited the Holtons took their two Mickey enthusiast children to the theater and were embarrassed when the alleged Mickey’s girl friend lost important garments. The picture they saw was “Stone Age Stuff,” [sic] a Van Beuren production, the affidavit said.

(Dubs on-line of Stone Age Stunts show no scenes of clothing being removed).

A story in the United Press added Disney had copyrighted Mickey and Minnie in September 1928, and claimed Van Beuren et al had taken in more than $1,000,000 in profits from the imitation cartoons.

Apparently, Amedee Van Beuren claimed in response that Milton and Rita pre-dated Mickey and Minnie, which was true, but also disingenuous. As you can see above, the Van Beuren designs changed after Mickey and Minnie were born.

A wire service story dated April 28, 1931 reported Federal Judge George Cosgrave had granted that day a preliminary injunction stopping the further release of the offending cartoon(s). In hunting through newspapers, I have not found whether the case reached a conclusion in court or was settled in lawyers’ offices, but it should be noted Milton and Rita disappeared and, on August 1, the Fables began to star two humans, Tom and Jerry.

Nine years later, MGM pasted the Tom and Jerry names on an animated mouse and cat. Van Beuren couldn’t do anything about it. The Van Beuren studio folded in 1936 and Van Beuren himself was dead in 1938.

The irony is the shorts with Milton and Rita are being lovingly restored in new Blu-Ray collections of Fables by Steve Stanchfield’s Thunderbean Animation. Take that, Mickey and your corporation.

Thus, Van Beuren cartoon fans lived happily ever after.

Today's Sniffles Question

Non sequiturs happen in cartoons. That I can understand. But there are times I’m watching something and thinking “What?! What was that? Why?”

It happens with Van Beuren shorts, but I give them a pass because the plots are full of things that are funny-weird. It happens with some of the later shorts at Columbia/Screen Gems, but I figure they’re trying for Warner Bros. or Tex Avery gags and failing.

But there’s one by Chuck Jones I simply don’t get.

He and writers (Rich Hogan gets the screen credit) came up with The Brave Little Bat (1941). The National Board of Review magazine describes it:

A nice little dope of a bat saves a strange mouse when a giant cat invades their home.

Okay, so here’s the bat.



But then the bat strolls from behind a beam and comes out the other side as a mouse with little bat wings under his arm pits. And remains that way for the rest of the cartoon.



My question is—why?

The bat isn’t in disguise to trick him because there’s no trick involved. Is Sniffles hallucinating? I’m missing something. Maybe.

In this short, Sniffles is boring, the bat is annoying. Eventually the ridiculous, repetitive chatter (stolen from Teeny of Fibber McGee and Molly) would be put by Jones into Sniffles himself. There isn’t much of a point to the cartoon, which inches along. The climax is a cat falls a long way to the floor.

Rudy Larriva is the credited animator. I suspect Paul Julian painted the backgrounds.

Big Heel-Watha Background

A pan over a Johnny Johnsen background was a favourite way for Tex Avery to start a cartoon. Generally, there was an overlay of some kind panned at a different speed to add depth.

These are parts of the opening background of Big Heel-Watha (1944). The tall fir trees in front are on an overlay. You can see they’re at different spots over the background, as the camera moves left to right.



I’m not certain about any of the Tex Avery’s MGM layout people at this point. Claude Smith designed characters and he may have done the setting layouts, too, though Avery supervised everything pretty closely.

Ed Love, Preston Blair and Ray Abrams animated the cartoon. The opening narration is by Frank Graham.

Doris Packer

Television typecast actors. If I mention, say, Gale Gordon, or Charles Lane, or Maudie Prickett, you pretty much know what kind of character they’re going to play.

If comedy casting directors were looking for a somewhat snooty, humourless, perhaps wealthy, woman or authority figure, they likely didn’t look any further than Doris Packer.

Perhaps her best-known roles were as the school principal on Leave It To Beaver and the mother of spoiled rich kid Chatsworth Osborne on The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis. I remember her guest appearances as the operator of an exclusive private school in early episodes of The Beverly Hillbillies. There were many more shows, too.

What you may not have known was her acting career went back to the 1920s. Here’s a neat feature story from the Portland Herald (Maine) of Oct. 31, 1927

Doris Packer, Known To Cast As “Overture Sal,” Likes Ben Turpin
Celebrates First Anniversary As Actress With Jefferson Players
(By Edith W Haines)
"Out in the alley, Rose Burdick has her new straight-eight waiting for her, Frances Morris has her dog and a car, too, to make off-stage moments happy, but I have nothing," and Doris Parker had a sympathetic audience of one in her dressing room at the Jefferson.
After seeing that young woman in her numerous sophisticated roles, the thought farthest from one’s mind was that one ever would be placed in a position to sympathize with her. But those roles have done Doris Packer an injustice.

Instead of the stand-offish sophisticate, she is delightfully ingenuous, the Sally of Jefferson Alley. She is known among the players as ’’Overture Sal," a nickname wished on her because of her ability to appear on the stage without the usual coatings of grease-paints and other contents of mysterious jars that decorate actors' dressing tables.
Last week Miss Packer celebrated her first anniversary as an actress, and in Portland. Miss Packer began her professional career in Portland, but does not plan to end it here. Like every actress she sees Broadway in the offing. Just out of college where she had appeared in Greek plays and the like, the youthful ingenue came East to make a name for herself and begin her career in the most practical and wisest way. Today she appears as one of the most talented and finished players of the Jefferson company.
To remain sad and sympathetic in Doris Packer’s presence would be impossible, however. for cars and dogs are not necessary to her happiness and peace of mind.
"Lindy's” airplane is going to have nothing on Rose Burdick's new car, for it is big enough to hold the entire Jefferson family, and is called "Our” car. And Miss Morris isn’t selfish with Trouper, either, for she would just as soon have him dragging shoes out of Doris Packer's dressing room as out of her own. Instead of being envious of her associates, it is for them to be envious of Miss Packer. She has an edge on them for she can take half an hour extra between shows to see a movie, for with an extra dash of rouge, a little shading for eyes and a change of costume she is ready for the performance.
While flappers are worshipping at the shrine of John Gilbert or Ronald Colman, Doris Packer kneels down to—don’t laugh—Ben Turpin!
A confession that some would hesitate at making, came out as calmly as if she were whispering the deepest of secrets. There is a sad story behind Ben Turpin's life— a tragedy. And while Ben Turpin's eyes are leading him in two different directions and making folks howl at his doings—he is secretly nourishing a sorrowful past. His broken heart hidden behind an unlovely fave [face?] is just as admirable masquerade—and that is what Miss Packer reveres.
“I've just been to see ‘The College Hero’ in which Ben Turpin plays, and which was filmed at the University of California from which I was graduated—so it was just a glimpse of home for me.”
With the last performance of “The Masquerader” over, and her seven-line tale finished, Miss Packet lined up with the others to try out the family car. It remained for Joseph McInerney to put on the finishing touches.
"Out of all the footsteps on the pavement, you can single out Doris Packer, for it is always the sharp tap, tap, tap of her quick little heels. And when she is mad you can tell that, too, for it’s taptaptap—just like that! And— But the sentence remained unfinished for the little comedienne's sharp heels were after the informant clearing the stage of his presence.

Packer spent her time on the stage, before and after war duty, relocating to California with her husband in 1947. He died in Los Angeles in 1953, the year she made her film debut in Universal’s Meet Me At The Fair.

By the time this story appeared in the St. Lucie News Tribune on April 14, 1961, she was well established in television.

TV’s ‘Richest Woman’ In Town
By SALLY LATHAM
Fans of the Dobie Gillis TV show shouldn't be a bit surprised this week if they see "Mrs. Chattsworth ’Osborne” walking down the street. She's here as a houseguest of her cousin.
"Mrs Osborne," who also has several other simultaneous identities on the silvered tube, is Doris Packer, an able and versatile character actress with more years of successful Broadway and Hollywood experience then her animatedly attractive appearance admits to.
Miss Packer, as she is known professionally, has been enjoying a visit here with her favorite “girl” cousin, Mrs. R. J. Olson, in the latter's charming estate home in Maravilla. It's the first reunion for the two in six years and “we haven't stopped talking yet." says “Sis" Olson.
However, the visiting celebrity has also been during some of her time with another pet cousin, Earl Magrath of South Beach. The air, around the two homes, has been rich with reminiscence, shared memories and catch-up chat.
Much of the chatter concerns the TV actress’ fascinating adventures In cinema-land. In addition to having one of the top character roles in Dobie Gillis (NBC-TV) she also appears in the family program "Happy,” and in “Leave It to Beaver.” You've seen her, too, in "Laramie,” and several others in which she's had spot roles.
“I’m always the richest woman the world,” grins Miss Packer. “Which can get to be pretty expensive, since I have to buy all my own clothes."
The nice part about this comparatively new career, tells the dramatic veteran, is that it came to her— he didn't have to go looking for it. She’ll [missing words] she considered her full share of service in the theatre seven years ago, when she moved to the west coast. After all, she’d started in stock back in ’27, in Portland, Me., had moved to Broadway and covered the road from coast to coast and across the ocean on tour. She felt she’d earned a rest.
But it wasn’t to be that way. A fellow trouper, Larry Keating, who’d become a wheel in the west coast television industry, refused to let her rest on her laurels. “They need you,” he insisted, and promptly proceeded to get her booked, solid. She’s been at it ever since, with no signs a second let-up.
While on Broadway, Miss Packer’s favorite role was that of Nancy Blake, the part Clare Booth wrote herself into in the immortal satire, "The Women.” Miss Packer went on the road with this enduring play, covering “40 weeks, 40 states with 40 women.”
To top it off the troupe on request crossed the Pacific to do another long run with it in Australia. That’s a lot of traveling for a lot of gals—especially ones whose nightly dramatic job on the stage was a socialized cat-fight.

During her career, Miss Packer has acquired some wonderful friends among the top echelon of the theatrical world, high-ranking among whom are George Burns and Gracie Allen. In fact, their son Ronnie, star of the Happy show, is like a son to her. Ronnie, she says, is brilliant and talented, but he needs plenty of steering and discipline.
“And I give it to him, good,” chuckles Miss Packer.
Miss Packer’s career has been a colorful one—in other areas than the world of the stage. Back in the early years of World War II “my patriotism got the best of me.” She joined the Women’s Army Corps, and probably contributed in large measure to the size of the Armed Forces.
She and a close friend, who enlisted together as privates to the WACs, took a stand right to the middle of Times Square, New York City, and made with the patriotic pitch. They had as “shills” such tempters as top name bands and Broadway’s most brilliant stars.
Widow of Rowland Edwards, Broadway director-producer, Miss Packer now lives quietly (between shows) in her Hollywood home, her only “roommate” her Lakeland Terrier. But she has as “family” half of the television industry, from stars to crewmen (whom she thinks are pretty wonderful guys).
She particularly relishes a recent experience while to the Bank of America with her financeer-brother. A nice-looking young man came up and addressed her warmly calling her “Doris.” After a long and endearingly vague conversation, she was really worried— she couldn't remember where she'd met the guy.
Finally, it came to her.
He was the cook at the studio commissary.

Doris Packer is one of those people I associate with the black-and-white era of TV. I don’t know if I’ve actually seen her in colour (mind you, we didn’t get a colour set until the early ‘70s and I inherited our old Philco). By the ‘70s, she was appearing mainly in trivia columns in newspapers. She died in Glendale on March 31, 1979.

Ken Muse's Concerto

The Cat Concerto was a tour de force for Ken Muse, who seems to have animated at least half of the Oscar-winning cartoon.

The frames below can’t give the subtle animation of head rolls, bows and sweeps as Tom plays the piano, but you can get an idea of some of the expressions he gave to Tom.



Later, there’s a scene where Jerry has actually taken over playing the piano from inside, and the melody switches from Liszt’s Second Hungarian Rhapsody to Johnny Mercer and Harry Warren’s “On the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe” (from the MGM musical The Harvey Girls). Tom is delighting in the song until the realisation take that the music has changed.



The only that bugs me about Muse’s animation, and you can see it in the frame above, is he draws Tom’s head like Jerry’s head at times. This happens in other MGM cartoons.

I couldn’t tell you if Harvey Eisenberg was the layout artist on this as Harvey was never credited at MGM. Same with whomever provided the backgrounds. Muse, Ed Barge and Irv Spence receive animation credits. I believe this was made when Ray Patterson was in England working for David Hand.

MGM sound department records exist (I imagine Keith Scott went through them) and show Calvin Jackson was the pianist, and recorded his work on April 8, 1946. Jackson was an assistant director of music at MGM, scoring musicals at the time the cartoon was made. Jackson got no screen credit; it all went to Scott Bradley, and the pianist’s identity was a mystery and subject of speculation for years. Part of it stemmed from a story which appeared in the Venice (Ca.) Evening Vanguard on April 1, 1946:

Famed pianist John Crown, professor of piano forte at University of Southern California, was featured this week with the MGM symphony orchestra playing the 2nd Hungarian Rhapsody for “Cat’s Concerto,” Tom and Jerry cartoon co-directed by William Hanna and Joseph Barbera. Scott Bradley, MGM cartoon music director, conducted.

The Hollywood Reporter of Dec. 6, 1946 had the short at the top of the list of 16 MGM cartoons on the 1946-47 schedule, adding 14 were at Technicolor for prints, but not naming them.

A Swirling Moose

Why is there a moose in the jungle? I’m not quite sure, but Popeye battles one in Wild Elephinks (1933).

The in-betweeners must have had fun coming up with fight drawings.



Here are eight drawings forming a cycle. It was animated on ones.



Sammy Timberg's score includes “Tiger Rag,” which would have made a great Fleischer Screen Song with the Mills Brothers, and Friz Freleng’s favourite, Liszt’s Second Hungarian Rhapsody.

The Radio Girl

Keith Scott has done animation fans a great favour by publishing his two books on actors in the Golden Age of Cartoons, one delving into studio histories and the other listing individual cartoons and the actors in them.

A plea has come from Keith for anyone with information, especially about the three main East Coast studios—Fleischer/Famous, Terrytoons and Van Beuren. Most of the major players have received some publicity over the years, but studio records have either been destroyed or are missing.

Without gumming up this post with talk about whom we know, here’s one that no one seems to know anything about.

The New Rochelle Standard-Star of March 12, 1932 reported on Paul Terry bringing some of his cartoons to a benefit for the American Legion post in Larchmont. Musical director Phil Scheib spoke as well. By this point, Terry was including original songs and this called for professional singers. “[T]he very best singers are hired for quartet work and for solos,” the paper quoted Scheib. I’ve read this kind of vague comment before, but then came this revelation:

"Mr. Scheib introduced Miss Hazel Dudley, the Animated Voice of the Terrytoons. She sang “Morning,” “Her Gown,” “The Newlyweds,” and a song from “Her First Egg,” one of the comedies shown."

Hazel Dudley?? Who’s that??

Well, it’s time to turn to trusty old newspapers and census records to try to find out.

It can be really dangerous to make assumptions—I’ve seen it time and time again on “databases” and “pedias” where animation fans guess incorrectly—but I’m going to go out on a limb on this one. In the 1930 Census for Brooklyn, we find one Hazel A. Dudley, single, age 25, with an occupation of “singer,” specifically at a church. She’s the daughter of Birdsell and Florence Dudley, her father being a broker at a fish market.

Matching this to other records and information, we find Hazel Alberta Dudley was born in Brooklyn on August 8, 1904. The New York Tribune relates on Dec. 30, 1911 an amateur child performer named Hazel Dudley appeared at the 39th Street Theatre, performing “specialties.” She appeared in a “Fight TB” benefit in 1915. We’ll skip some childhood news stories and go into listings of the early days of radio. On July 21, 1924, she is a soprano on WOR, singing on two shows of 15 minutes (in those days, it’s very likely she was not paid). She moved to WEAF in 1926 and then WOV in 1928. Miss Dudley was also an early television star, performing on a 15-minute programme on W2XAB (the CBS station) in 1931 and 1932. It would appear to be a happy coincidence she sang on the radio and was, we presume, the voice of the girl mouse in the 1932 Terrytoon Radio Girl (frame to the right).

On July 15, 1934, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle announced her marriage to a George Leadbetter. The 1940 Census has her and her husband living with her parents in Baldwin, Hempstead, Long Island. Her occupation is “clerk, telephone company.” There’s a newspaper reference in 1963 to her being on the board of the Nassau County Welfare Employees Association. She died on Long Island in April 1973. So far, I have been unable to find an obituary for her.

If nothing else, perhaps another cartoon voice mystery has been solved.