Dollars For Day

It took a little over seven years for the pieces of the Jack Benny radio show to be put together.

The last one was found for the start of the 1939-40 season. Kenny Baker had suddenly quit after accepting an exclusive contract with the Texas Company (he was billed for the last show of the previous season but never appeared) and Benny needed a new vocalist.

That’s when Dennis Day was added to the regular cast of Mary Livingstone, Don Wilson, Phil Harris and Eddie Anderson.

I liked Baker better as a vocalist but there’s no denying Dennis was able to expand his role as a timid singer into a comedic actor, with over-the-top dialects and impressions that were more than good enough to work in the context of the show. I must admit I laughed more at Day than Baker. And Day was no dummy when it came to the business side, either.

The North American Newspaper Alliance published this profile on May 11, 1950. Only in print could someone make a “Chesterfield” reference to a star of the Lucky Strike show; a network or ad agency would never allow it.

Dennis Day’s Income Close to Crosby and Hope
By HAROLD HEFFERNAN
HOLLYWOOD, May 10—(NANA)—Millions of radio fans who listen to him heckling and being heckled by Jack Benny on the radio every Sunday have come to regard Dennis Day as only a naive mamma’s boy with a rare tenor voice. Dennis is a lot more than that. Still on the sunny side of 35, he’s scampering up the financial ladder so fast that the mighty Crosby, Hope and Godfrey must soon move over and make room.
Dennis revealed on the set of his new movie, “I’ll Get By," now In production on the 20th Century-Fox lot, that already run up such a tote on the income board that his occasional personal-appearance tours around the country mean nothing on the profit side. But Dennis feels the P. A.s are part of his responsibility.
“Even If you lose money on a tour,” he explained in a strident tone far removed from the guileless manner affected professionally, "you must let your radio fans see you in person. It’s a tough assignment to take on at the end of a working year, but necessary. You play six shows a day and sing eight or nine songs at each. And you can chat with the people—Lord love em! This year they’re going to see me in a motion picture, so no P.-A. tour. I get a real vacation on my boat as a result.”
Has Two Air Shows
Squeezing a picture into his work schedule requires some tight planning for radioman Day. He has two air shows—his own, “A Day in the Life of Dennis Day,” and his stint on the Jack Benny show. He owns two music-publishing companies and personally looks over all material submitted after it gets the green light from his brother, John McNulty, who manages his business affairs. Also he must make enough recordings to fill public demand—no small task.
“A record put me where I am today,” said Dennis, “so I keep pretty close watch on that end of the business. I was studying law at Manhattan college and my singing and imitations were regarded as a bit of play by myself and my family. I had an appendectomy and while I was recuperating I would amuse myself by cutting a record or two by way of passing the time. One day some fellows from a Canadian recording outfit were in the next booth. I was recording “Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair” and when I finished they offered to buy the disc. They gave me $75 and suddenly I was in business.
“I used to sing now and again on a radio show, just for spending money, but I was all for criminal law—a branch of the profession which has always interested me immensely. About this time Kenny Baker pulled out of the Jack Benny show and they were looking for a tenor. Mary Livingstone heard my recording of ‘Jeanie’ and persuaded Jack to audition me. I guess I sang 20 songs before we were through. There were so many applications for the spot that I had no hope of getting it. You can imagine my surprise when my name was called out by Jack.
Has Wit and Poise
“I said ‘Yes, please!’ I was very nervous, my voice was higher than normal and eager to please as a spaniel. Jack turned to Mary and said ‘That’s our boy—I want him just like that—eager, shy, with his mother somewhere in the background all the time.’”
That, Dennis said, is the type character he plays in “I’ll Get By”—the naive lad who says the things other people only think.
In real life Dennis, (born Eugene Dennis McNulty in New York's Bronx) is a lively, personable fellow who dresses meticulously in British-tailored clothes. He’s quick with a witty retort and his social poise is enviable. He can balance a cup of tea and a sandwich and give a rattling good interview with the air of a Chesterfield.
His lawyer mind prompts him to analyze each angle of his work. He plans a season’s programs as he would a lawsuit. He takes a singing lesson nearly every day.
“You can't afford to drift in the entertainment field,” Dennis remarked. “There are too many clever fellows about and a lot of ‘em can sing.”
He lives in a modest section of Los Angeles and is one of the few big-money men in the Hollywood entertainment world who has no swimming pool. His wife, the former Peggy Ahlmquist, is a non-professional. They have two small sons, Dennis and Patrick.

Dennis added to his brood and carried on appearing, off and on, with Jack in between a steady career of nightclubs, fairs, a touring company of “Brigadoon” and the like. Jack’s regular weekly appearances on TV ended in 1965. Day talked to Vancouver Sun reporter Les Wedman about it, and his career, in a story published May 6, 1965.

Dennis Day is feeling pretty sad that The Jack Benny Show is being dropped from television, not because it means he's losing the job he's had for 25 years but because he knows how tough it will be for the famed comedian not to be working regularly.
"With nine kids I can't afford to retire," Day declared. "Jack isn't exactly penniless but he isn't happy unless he's working.
Of course, the way things are in TV, all of this season's Benny shows were on film by the end of last January. However, Day explained it wasn't until just a little while ago that anyone knew that NBC wasn't renewing the program.
"Gomer Pyle did it," Day said. "Our ratings just dropped and sponsors only look at the ratings." One sponsor was willing to pick up his part of the show again next fall but with Benny's series being the most expensive half hour on the air, Day said, it would have meant the comedian taking a substantial cut.
"It's an end of an era," Day added. "No other comedian made the successful transition from radio to television. Benny has been doing TV since 1950, which means he's been on for 15 years."
Day, who's really 47 but insists he's younger because Jack Benny is only 39 and nobody on the show can be older, says his association with Benny has meant everything to him. "We've been like one family—Don Wilson, Rochester, Mahlon Merrick, the writers."
Benny, said Dennis, is a generous man, and all the time he's been with him he's never heard the comedian get angry at anyone.
Day is here for a singing engagement at Ken Stauffer's New Cave Theatre Restaurant. At the end of May he goes to London for some TV appearances and then to entertain servicemen in Germany.
He will be doing Brigadoon in San Francisco. He's hoping for more guest shots on TV like his Burke's Law and Bing Crosby Show this season. He'd also like to do concerts and a Broadway show but has no plans for a TV show of his own.
He once had one—The Dennis Day Show, with Cliff (Charley Weaver) Arquette. They were on for 2 1/2 years.
The half-year is accounted for by the show being knocked off the air by a more popular opponent . . . the I Love Lucy series.
Jack Benny has several specials lined up for next season's TV and he'll also guest on shows and make personal appearances, Day said. Benny doesn't have any other television shows his production company owns. "He hasn't been very lucky with the ones he did have—the Marge and Gower Champion show, the Gisele MacKenzie show and the Wayne and Shuster summer series," the singer stated.
Day has made more from The Jack Benny Show this year than ever, because CBS is running the old shows on its daytime schedule. This means residual payments for everybody.
He also gets paid handsomely for two TV commercials—one for cigars and another for a detergent. Day said he doesn't smoke at all so he doesn't mind trying to improve on the bad image cigars got in the days when Edward G. Robinson and other movie bad guys were smoking them.
But he occasionally does do dishes so he can really be convincing about soap.

Looking at the big picture, Dennis wasn’t a huge star. His TV series never achieved the popularity of shows starring other singers, such as Perry Como, Andy Williams or Dean Martin. The advent of rock and roll didn’t help his music career.

In the end, he’ll always be associated, more than anything, as a member of the Jack Benny cast. As a 1965 Vancouver Province story put it “the ageless Benny...frequently slips into Dennis Day’s conversation.” But the Benny boost wouldn’t have happened if Day didn’t have talent. Day arguably went farther in show business than any of Jack’s other vocalists. Ask Michael Bartlett.

A Henny the Bear Cartoon

It’s a safe bet that you’ve never seen a cartoon starring Henny the Bear.

In fact, I’ll bet you’ve never heard of Henny the Bear.

That’s because the animation studio for Henny was in a room in a house in Johnson City, Tennessee.

The story of Henny is one of a number we have stumbled across involving teenagers who wanted to be animated cartoonists, created their own characters and stories, then went to work.

One was Glenn Francis Dale. He later graduated with a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Tennessee. Evidently he was a draft dodger. In 1968, he was indicted by a grand jury for what apparently was non-enlistment. He moved to Toronto. The other, Larry Dale Carroll, not only served in Vietnam, but awarded several medals. He attended East Tennessee State University and later was employed by the university as a graphic artist. His obituary in the Johnson City Press in 2000 states “as a high school student he created cartoons, advertisements and commercials that were used by the local media.” It appears the two partially achieved their goal.

The city’s Chronicle newspaper profiled them, as well as Henny, in its edition of March 30, 1958.

Two Local Boys Produce Their Own Animated Cartoons Starring Henny
By DOROTHY HAMILL
Henny is a personality you’ll want to know better. Henny is a teddy bear who, it's safe to predict, is going to bring fame to his creators. For Henny is the hero in a series of animated cartoons designed, planned, written, drawn and filmed by two 16-year-old boys, Glenn Dale and Larry Carroll.
The Dale and Carroll Productions, of which Henny is star, has been in operation for two years. And it’s astounding what these two boys have accomplished in that time, building much of their own equipment, experimenting, doing the hundreds of painstaking drawings necessary for animation, writing their own story sequences. To borrow some adjectives from the movie industry—stupendous and colossal. [Tralfaz note: “And it’s good, too!” From “Daffy Duck in Hollywood”].
High School Juniors
The young artists—whose parents are Mr. and Mrs. Glenn Dale, West Locust Street, and Mr. and Mrs. E. S. Carroll, West Grand Avenue—have known each other since elementary school days and are now juniors at Science Hill High School. They are both highly gifted in art, and have done some beautiful oil paintings.

After reading the story of Walt Disney, they became interested in that vastly technical field of animated cartoons. "We used to make flip books,” they explained, “the kind where you’d draw characters on each page and they would move as you flipped the pages.” And when Glenn got a movie camera for Christmas, they were ready to begin film animation.
They chose their central figure from a teddy bear Glenn had had when a child. "Henny is to us what Mickey Mouse is to Disney," they declared. During vacations and weekends of the school year, they tried out ideas, discarded some. and investigated new methods. Now they have five series on film, and two they are presently working on. To make it even more remarkable, they’ve done a sound tract, synchronized with the film, for one episode, and they even wrote the theme music themselves. The tune is a catchy, quick-beat rhythm, which they played for recording on their clarinets, with Glenn's brother, Donald, helping on the piano. They also did sound effects and spoke Henny lines.
Work At Dale Home
The workshop of Dale and Carroll Productions is a room in the Dale home. Most professional looking it is, too, with a couple of adjoining tables, typewriter, cameras, paints, record player, microphone, story board.
“First,” Glenn said, "we try to get an idea of the story, making it as original as we possibly can. We feel that originality is very important in movie-making. Then we sit around and discuss the story, and when we have it in mind, we write down the outline.”
During this process, they decide on the characters and what each character will do. After that, they make a series of small sketches highlighting the main bits of action. Some of these they do in pen and ink or, as on a recent occasion, they use shoe polish as a paint material. A few of these individual pictures are pinned on the “story board” which they made of beaverboard. With these before them, they can continue filling in the story idea.
“Every camera angle has to be figured, too,” Larry continued, “and then, of course, comes the drawing." For a seven-minute cartoon, they revealed, over 9,000 separate frames or drawings are needed. If, for instance, Henny should be throwing a ball, a series of sketches must be made, in each one the position of arm changed every so slightly.
Separate Films
Every sketch, also, must be filmed separately. On the movie camera is a device which enables them to film one frame at a time While Glenn operates the camera, Larry moves the pictures, or vice versa.
"Lighting has been a problem and we’ve experimented a great deal," Glenn said. They use photo flood lights, and several are necessary. Each one lasts only about three hours.
The first three cartoons they made are what they refer to as “gags.” They are mainly isolated incidents such as Henny investigating a firecracker that blows up. “The House That Henny Built,” completed about a year ago, is more ambitious. In this the teddy bear decides to build a house in the woods. He stops to rescue a rabbit attacked by a fierce bear, and when the bear goes for Henny, the other animals succor him and then aid in completing the house. This is the cartoon for which they composed background music and did sound effects and spoken lines. The sound tract was made to synchronize with the film.
In the beginning, Glenn and Larry drew in background, then cut it out and superimposed it on the picture. Now they draw their character on a sheet of heavy cellophane and place it on top of the background.

Last year they built themselves a multiplane—a contrivance whereby the camera can be set at the top and take pictures on three different levels, thus giving depth. The homemade multiplane wasn’t sturdy enough, so now they are having a stronger one made for them. The boys designed what they wanted and gave plans to the company building it.
Mix Own Paints
Glenn and Larry mix their own paints, using mostly water color, with oils for the background. They also constructed their sound equipment, using a camera tripod for the base, with another tripod on top and the microphone hung on one arm.
By this time, Henny has become a real person to them. "Henny is the kind of character who always gets himself into unpleasant situations, but he has an ingenious way of getting out of them,” they said. “He looks stupid, but he’s really intelligent. And he's invariably pleasant.”
At the moment, the boys are working hard a cartoon in which Henny goes to the moon. They’ve been reading and doing research on outer space to make the background as scientific as possible. They are using some Stravinksy music as background, and plan to tape in some tunes of their own composition. They’re trying to finish the film by the end of school, and a friend is going to send it to Walt Disney. This friend, by the way, has a relative who close to Disney, so that film is sure to get a viewing by the great expert.
Another cartoon in the process of development is called “For Sale,” and concerns Henny’s attempt to buy a dog. “The idea here,” Glenn declared. “is boy meets dog, boy loses dog, boy gets dog.”
Although this is a close working corporation, once a story is planned out, the boys can draw separately at their individual homes. But preliminary drafting, filming, and the major portion of the work go on in the workshop.
Would Stay In Field
Larry and Glenn both would like to go into the animated cartoon field professionally when they are fully grown. To that end, they are endeavoring to learn all they can on motion picture techniques, ordering books to read and gathering any material on the subject. The amazing amount they’ve learned so far has come largely from their experimenting and the developing of their own methods.
They are now experimenting with color film, and plan to see if they can do something on the principle of cinemascope. Stereophonic sound is another idea they want to follow through, revealing to a bewildered reporter that this means getting voices at different spots on the screen.
To illustrate the thoroughness with which these boys work, they do a short test reel in order to check lighting, characters, etc. The expressions on the faces of the animals, in the films we were privileged to see, are marvelous. And the animated action is something that left us breathless with wonderment.
Other plans in the hopper of this brilliant twosome include a possible cartoon strip for their school paper, and the preparation of some television commercials with animated characters. They will probably make up new characters for this last project.
But Henny will remain their top star. Just this week they got Henny copyrighted. That teddy bear, without doubt, is going places. Move over, Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse! Here comes Henny!



You’d think, judging by the huge eyes and pupils on Henny, the guys were influenced by Japanese animation. But in Tennessee of 1958, I doubt they ever saw any.

Their style is interesting enough that it’s a shame the series never went further, especially if the animation is good as described by reporter Dorothy Hamill. (Yes, I know. Same name as a figure skater. Let’s move on).

However, we hope we’ve been able to provide you with an interesting footnote in the history of animation toward the end of the Golden Age.

Cat Faces

Jerry attacks Tom with the lid of a garbage can in The Midnight Snack (1941).



MGM cartoons feature dry-brush work and multiples. You don’t see many of the latter because they are used as in-betweens to quickly move the characters. In this scene, you see a lot of them as the vibration action is on screen for several seconds.



This shows you MGM had a talented paint department, which is considered the lowest rung in the animation system (outside of a cel washer, which took no artistic ability). Ink and paint people get little recognition, which is why I was so pleased the late Martha Sigall published her memoires, giving fans of the Warners and MGM cartoons a fresh viewpoint.

Incidentally, publicity from MGM at the time of release named the cat and mouse Jasper and Jerry. The maid (played by Lillian Randolph) never had a name. You can read the story here.

Will the Real Doug Fairbanks...

Being a huge movie star in 1932, Mickey Mouse hung out with all the celebrities. He even got autographed pictures of them. In fact, he had two of Doug Fairbanks. I think.

These “photos” are from The Wayward Canary. Fairbanks doesn’t look the same in them, but I can’t figure out another Doug who it may be.



And here’s a picture of Mrs. Fairbanks.



Out of curiosity, does anyone know who is being referred to in the election sign on the fence?



As usual, Disney never credited his artists on the early shorts.

Norman Lear

He produced and wrote some of the top comedy shows on television, but displayed his talents for writing far earlier.

The Hartford Courant writing on June 21, 1940 about the senior class exercises as Weaver High School, noted “The class history, prophecy, and will were combined in the form of a play, written by Norman Lear.” He also acted in it.

Lear was making headlines in high school long before All in the Family. His name appeared in the same paper on September 28, 1939: “See our coming vaudeville team, Adrian Greenberg and Norman Lear, who had photos taken with the Ritz Brothers when the latter were here.”

And, as you can see to the right, he placed second in the Connecticut Department of the American Legion’s National High School Oratorical Contest. For his effort, the 17-year old “son of Mr. and Mrs. Herman K. Lear of 68 Woodstock Street, Hartford...was awarded a check for $50, the combined prize of the Connecticut State Bar Association and the American Legion, Department of Connecticut” (Courant, Mar. 31, 1940).

Lear got his big break after the war. He had been with the Players Guild of Hartford, and had left for Los Angeles on May 4, 1949. Zuma Palmer of The Hollywood Citizen-Express of Aug. 18, 1952 reported on its Radio-Television page:

Ed Simmons and Norman Lear, writers of the Jerry Lewis, Dean Martin television and radio shows, night club sketches and now their screen plays, met through their wives.
Mrs. Lear and Mrs. Simmons became acquainted at a gymnasium where they went to take off a few pounds. They liked each other, thought their husbands would be congenial and so planned an evening together. Before it was over, the men folk discovered they had the same ambition—to write.
Lear, 30, had come from Hartford, Conn. He served three years in the Army Air Corps, one year overseas, as radio operator and gunner on a Flying Fortress. He tried theatrical publicity after the war because, as a boy, he had heard with keen interest his uncle tell of the people he met in that business.
The manufacture of metal specialties was Lear's next interest. One, a cigaret holder for a saucer, was a successful project. As others have done, he didn't stop when doing well but branched out to such an extent he lost his money. Lear moved to California, which he had wanted to do immediately after the war but his family persuaded him to stay home awhile.

Tom Danson wrote for several papers in the Los Angeles area. His column of May 5, 1952 included a profile of the pair, part of which read:

Any time I mention Martin and Lewis to the average television or radio fan I invariably get one question, “How do think up those things?" I have the answer and it’s a simple one. Simmons and Lear. Ed Simmons and Norman Lear are two of the freshest, brighest young men to sit behind a typewriter in years. They write the TV and radio shows for Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, and do such a good job of it that recently Dean and Jerry paid for a full page ad in Variety, the theatrical trade journal, to eulogize them.
The last Martin and Lewis show had some of the comedy highlights of the year, as concocted by Ed Simmons and Norman Lear, and the M. & L. radio show, heard Friday nights over the NBC net, are equally delightful. As if those two assignments weren't enough, the boys have just finished “Behind the Leather Curtain," a prizefight comedy written for Martin and Lewis with films and the Broadway stage in mind.
"You know,” Ed and Norm told me, “we’re the only adults who didn’t get into television from the radio field. We took the direct route and went right into TV after teaming up."
I found that Ed Simmons used to be in the photographic business while Norman Lear was a press agent. Neither was happy about his prospects, so they teamed up as comedy writers, and went to work for the Jack Haley show on TV in New York. Later they did special skits for Danny Thomas and Eddie Cantor. Their Haley material impressed Dean and Jerry so much that they asked to meet Eddie and Norm, and immediately signed them on a short term basis.
After a few weeks together, the boys were signed to a seven-year contract, just about the biggest and best contract of its kind in the TV and radio fields.
"Dean and Jerry are the greatest in the business to work for,” they told me. “They’re relaxed, they’re young, and they're eager. They're always willing and able to throw in additions and improvements on our scripts, and they don’t claim to know all the answers to show business like so many of the older comedians.”
“They may be nutty, but they’re nice,” Lear added, and Simmons nodded in assent.
So that, dear readers, is how Martin and Lewis think up all those crazy things, along with ideas they get themselves on the golf course. Simple isn’t it?

Lear’s relationship with Lewis soured, and then he and Simmons went their separate ways. Lear hooked up with Emmy-winning producer Bud Yorkin before the ‘50s were over. They began to develop a television legitimate acting team with the pairing of James Franciscus and Suzanne Pleshette. The fact Franciscus and Pleshette’s names don’t come to mind when you mention Lear shows you how successful it was.

It’s hard to believe it has been almost 53 years since All in the Family debuted on CBS. For those of you who weren’t around then and wonder about the show’s impact, here’s what the Associated Press’ TV-radio writer, Jerry Buck, wrote for publication in August 1971.

HOLLYWOOD (AP) — Last January a new situation comedy arrived on the television scene that violated all of the polite rules of the game.
The husband barked at his wife and family, sex was frankly discussed, there was a definite gap between the generations, the head of the house was openly bigoted and tossed around slurs and epitaphs seldom heard on the tube.
The result is that CBS' "All in the Family" became a hit and by the time the reruns began in the spring it was at the top of the ratings. Archie Bunker and such expressions as "stifle yourself" were on their way to joining the folklore.
The impact of "All in the Family" upon television is likely to be great. It is as certain to influence other situation comedies as "Laugh-In" changed the shape of the comedy-variety shows.
The man behind this series is Norman Lear, a 49-year-old writer and film producer whose last connection with weekly television was the Martha Raye show in the 1950s. He adapted "Family" from the original British show, "Till Death Us Do Part," and is now seeing his version going back to England for showing on BBC.
When the subject of a "television breakthrough" was brought up, Lear was a little offhand. He said, "I read that it's a breakthrough. I guess it's a breakthrough."
He settled onto a couch in his Century City offices and added: "People ask me what we're trying to say with this show. Our basic job is to entertain.
"But if people interpret it any other way, we're pleased. I'm not surprised that people derive other things from it, but we're not sitting down to do anything other than to entertain."
Despite such protestations—it is obvious that Lear is delighted by the show's impact and success—"All in the Family" is having its effect.
Hal Kanter, who is creating "The Jimmy Stewart Show" for NBC, said later, "We're trying to be more realistic. It's not an Ozzie and Harriet world. Situation comedy has been so anti-septic. I think 'All in the Family' has helped. The father's attitude toward the son-in-law; he says some very rude things to the boy and the son-in-law says some very rude things back. I imagine that happens a lot, even in homes where there is love."
A similar view was expressed by Dick Van Dyke, who is returning to television. “It's opened up some subject areas we couldn’t have examined before."
Bernard Slade, who wrote the pilot scripts for a number of comedy series, said, "There will never be any more 'Hello-darling-I'm-home' type shows."
Lear, a slightly built man with a droopy Keystone Cop moustache that makes him look like Ben Turpin, said he wasn't too worried about the reaction when "All in the Family" went on the air. "But I knew that both CBS and I would find out and that we would find out quickly. I wanted to find out that first night." The network wanted to air as the first show a milder episode but Lear refused. He had a show selected that plunged Archie right into the maelstrom. "My feeling is that you can only get wet once," he said. "You can't get any more wet than all wet. I wanted to fight getting a little wetter each week.
"That first show was designed to say as openly to Americans as we could that these are the attitudes we are going to run—what do you think? Since then we've never had any trouble with the censors. That was as far as I wanted to go."
In the British show, "Till Death Us Do Part," the father and the mother were at each other's throats. She called him a "Pig" and he called her a "bloody moo."
The genesis of that series was that two people were locked in marriage hating each other. "But it's obvious that Archie and Edith love each other. Edith is a wily, smart lady. She's learned very well to live with a difficult man and one way you learn to live with a difficult man is to have an inner life," Lear said.
"She dreams about things, then returns with a witty line. She speaks only the truth. She reminds Archie that his uncle got him his job. And when he wants her to confirm his sexual prowess she wants to speak the truth but she can't remember."
"All in the Family" has its own cliches and stereotypes, but it exposes life to the quick. Comedy is always at its best when it is rooted in reality, rather than being pegged on a video fancy or "shtick." It is one small step on the path other entertainment forms took years ago.
Lear said, "I think the reason the show is popular is that we all know Archie Bunkers. My father was Archie Bunker and he was middle class and not blue collar. It doesn't matter, rich or poor, black or white. I've had people tell me, 'That's my father!”

The question has been raised—could All in the Family be made today? The answer may be yes or no. Certainly political polarisation of the kind between Archie and son-in-law Mike Stivic is completely relevant today. But then there’s the problem of language. Television was timid in 1971. Many people are more timid today. This same year, Laura Z. Hobson wrote in the New York Times there wasn’t enough bigotry on the show. Lear responded in print. Both used words uttered by Archie Bunker in the earliest episodes—and a few others—that people scream about if they hear or see today, regardless of the context. Even I am uncomfortable re-printing them.

While columnist Buck’s assessment of Laugh-In was off—it really was only a fad and its format died in the ‘70s—All in the Family did result in a tone of realism and, at times, even drama, added to television comedy. If Norman Lear had done nothing else, that’s a good enough legacy in itself.

Chicken Goes to Pot

Perhaps the silliest moment in Goofy Groceries this one.



A chicken pot pie clucks like a chicken. Well, I think it’s funny.

Carl Stalling plays “Chicken Reel” in the background.

There are a lot of fun little moments in this Warners cartoon from 1941. Director Bob Clampett and writer Tubby Millar fill it with pop culture references and parodies and tongue sandwiches that go la-la-la to “I’m Just Wild About Harry.” Vive Risto is the credited animator (in non Blue Ribbon prints).

A Tex Limo

The artwork in the cartoon Page Miss Glory (1936) is modern. In a way, so are the gags. Tex made fun of things in what became familiar and, in some cases, copied by other cartoon studios.

For example, Tex loved ridiculing long limos. He does it in this cartoon, as the car with (the imaginary) Miss Glory pulls up at a hotel. The hood ornament is a parody of one found on luxury Packards of the day. And there isn’t just one spare tire in the back, but a row of them.



Tex isn’t through. There’s a topper gag with a compact roadster pulling up with a hood ornament that reminds of something you might see in a Bob Clampett cartoon (Clampett was an animator in this short).



Tex and the writing crew even took a pot shot at the Warners’ concept of forcing Merrie Melodies cartoons to contain part of a Warners-owned song. The Warren-Dubin title tune comes to a sudden stop mid-lyric because a champagne bottle has to be forced open.

Only designer Leadora Congdon gets a screen credit; none of the animators do, nor does Avery.

Jaunting With Jack, Romping With Remley

Jack Benny never restricted his appearances to radio, television or movies. Even before his concerts with symphony orchestras in the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s, he’d get a troupe together and appear in various cities. In a way, he was re-living his old vaudeville days.

One of them was during the summer of 1950. The Scranton Tribune mentioned he had a cast of 42 on that particular tour.

These weren’t publicity tours. Jack was raising money for charity.

Here are several stories. First up is from the Des Moines Register of May 18th. Before some of his appearances, a parade made its way down the street with Jack riding, inevitably, in a Maxwell someone in town had found.

Benny Flying Here To Ride in 1914 Maxwell
Jack Benny may be true to the horseless carriage for getting around town, but he's part of the air age when traveling.
Benny is scheduled to arrive in a chartered TWA Constellation at Des Moines airport around 11 a. m. today. He will make the trip here from Kansas City, at 300 miles an hour.
Accompanying Benny will be 40 members of his troupe, including some top Hollywood names, Phil Harris, the orchestra leader; Rochester, and shapely Vivian Blaine.
Two Performances.
Benny and the remainder of the cast will appear in two performances at 7:30 and 9:30 p. m. today at KRNT theater.
Immediately on arrival, comedians, musicians and dancers will be whisked to the statehouse to take part in the Jack Benny day parade, which will start promptly at 12:30 p. m.
[Route of parade omitted]
Four Benneys. [sic]
All participants then are expected to dash for the nearest cafe for the luncheon they haven't had.
Benny fans will have a chance to see four versions of the comedian—the real Benny—and three younger Bennys of 8, 12 and 21. The young impersonators are scheduled to play "Love in Bloom," reportedly Benny's favorite violin composition, as they tour the loop.
In keeping with his radio personality, Benny will scorch along the streets in a 1914 Maxwell. This Is Jack Benny at 39, which he humorously gives as his real, age, in contrast to those 55 years since his birth.
Curly-haired Harris, who likes to sing 'That's What I Like About the South," will trundle along in an even more vehicle, a 1912 Sears. The show troupe and orchestra will be in other cars.
Miss Blaine, former dance band singer; Rochester; Stuart Morgan dancers: Wiere brothers, a comedy team and the Peiro brothers, acrobats, will ride in separate cars.
[List of merchants riding in the parade omitted]
Amusing portions of the parade will include references to Benny's traditional thriftiness, Harris' aversion to water, and Rochester working for "peanuts" (although he drives his own Cadillac.)
Other units in the parade will include the Argonne post American Legion band, the State University of Iowa Highlanders—and a calliope.
A navy color guard and Mayor A. Chambers will lead the parade.
Nationwide Tour.
Benny's appearance here is part of a nationwide tour of major American cities. The group will go from Des Moines to St. Paul, Minn. On completion of the 21-city tour, Benny, Rochester and Harris will sail for England to appear at London's Palladium theater.
Oh, yes, the helpful Remley also will be here—he's a guitarist in Phil Harris's band. But the radio Remley is Elliott Lewis.

Next stop: Moline, Ill. The Daily Times of Davenport, Iowa, has the story on May 20.

Jack Benny and Gang Greeted by Throng of Fans
Arrive in Big Plane; in Parade This Afternoon
Jack Benny, top radio comedian, back to playing one-night stands, arrived in the quad-cities today and he didn't come in a Maxwell.
He arrived on the biggest plane ever to land at the Quad-city airport and threw a kiss to 2,000 fans gathered to greet him. He explained later that "it didn't cost me anything to do it and they love it."
A big parade was scheduled for this afternoon and Benny, Phil Harris, Rochester and Vivian Blaine, along with that somewhat ebullient character, Frankie Remley, will do a stage presentation at Wharton fieldhouse, Moline, tonight.
Benny was first out on the field the airport, but the girls set up a yell for Phil Harris. Rochester's popularity was also much in evidence.
Benny immediately took over Moline and acted as his own press-agent for his show.
"We've got the best act have ever been in," he said "and I'm not kidding."
Benny, snappily attired, was pleased with the thousands who greeted him at the airport. "All nice people," he said.
Shortly after settling in the LeClaire hotel, Benny and his cast went to the fieldhouse where Benny supervised several changes in the seating arrangements and on the stage.
When told the seats were no more than ten feet from the stage he was pleased. "That's the way I like it, more intimate," he said.
Benny winds up his tour in the east. He, Rochester and Harris will then depart for London, England, for a weekend engagement in the Palladium theater.
His wife, Mary Livingston, who Benny says "can just about beat him in golf," did not make the trip.
Benny said he is grooming his 16-year-old daughter to follow in his footsteps. "She appeared in my show several weeks ago and likes it as much as I do."
Rochester, Benny explained wasn't feeling too good. He sprained his right ankle in the first presentation of the program and uses a cane to hobble along. Frankie Remley, Harris' guitar player, was anxious to visit a cousin, Diane, in the quad-cities.
His efforts to trace her were unsuccessful this afternoon.
One of those who greeted Benny was Walter Thorngren, exalted ruler of the Moline Elks. Part of the proceeds tonight are to go to the Elks Crippled Children's clinic, according to G. LaVerne Flambo, the promoter.

Indianapolis was on the schedule as well. Jack got some advance (and, as it turned out, national) publicity by “entering” his Maxwell in the Indy 500. The focus of the story in the Indianapolis News was native son Phil Harris. This story from May 25th leaves me with the impression Phil was as casual in real life than he was on the air.

Phil Harris Greeted by Linton Delegation
It was one big happy Harris family reunion at the Speedway yesterday when folks who came up from Linton greeted their boy, Phil.
The stars of the Jack Benny show made their appearance on the apron promptly at 4 p.m. The genial, long-suffering "Jackson," Rochester, petite blond Vivian Blaine and the heralded Maxwell appeared on schedule, accompanied by Wilbur Shaw and Tony Hulman to launch the afternoon's routine.
All hands were on deck but Phil Harris. Shouts of "Phil, Phil," echoed down gasoline row as those in charge tried to get the big, good-natured former Hoosier into his proper role.
But Phil reverted to type. He was pleasantly stymied along the fence, greeting the home folks and in no hurry to get on with proceedings at all. There was no budging him until he'd passed considerable time of day with the delegation from Linton. He was laughing and shaking hands and kissing his old friends over the fence that keeps the curious out of the pit areas.
Asked the identity of the pretty gray-haired woman on whom he bestowed the first resounding cousinly kiss, he said "Why, that was Mrs. Jug Harris. The Harrises are all over Linton where I come from. I've got lots of folks down there. Two hundred and fifty of them came up for the show tonight. I love 'em, every one."
His last visit to Linton was several years ago. "We were in Chicago," said he, "and naturally I wanted Alice (Alice Faye, his famous wile who, like Harris, expertly sells a song) to meet the Harrises."
Asked how he spotted his old friends in the crowd at the Speedway, he replied with jaunty Harris gusto: "Why, I can see a Linton person a mile away. They were the first people I saw. Couldn't miss 'em."
The dandy Southern accent with which he reels off "That's what I like about the South" isn't entirely Southern Indiana. He lived in Memphis, Tenn., a while when he was a kid and it colored his diction.
The coal fields of Linton still hold tender memory for him. It's home and to borrow a fast spiel: "Ain't no town, ain't no city, awful small, but awful pretty. . .”
Harris arrived in town with a guy named Benny, who arrived in town with a guy named Rochester. Benny left town today after proving that you don't have to be a show horse or a hockey player or be able to ice skate with the grace of a Sonja Henie to fill the Coliseum at the Fairground.
You just need to be Jack Benny, which is precisely what the comedian was for better than 2 hours last night on a stage at the west end of the huge building. And that was all right with the audience of nearly 9,000.
It was the same Benny who steps into millions of homes each Sunday night. He was the same right down to the gags about his penuriousness, his receding hairline, his ineffectual manner with glamour girls, his impotence in the face of the hearty, blustery -personality of Harris.
Benny's gags also touched on Fred Allen (unfavorably), television (he approves), income tax (he disapproves) and sundry other matters.
For the audience, perhaps the most amusing stretch was the "love scene" played by Benny and Vivian Blaine, the show's glamorous singer. The point was that Benny pretended he was Clark Gable and there sat Gable and his wife within a few feet of the stage. The screen lover, here to make a picture about the 500-Mile Race, seemed to relish the burlesque of his romantic technique.
Gable's entrance, just before the show started, provoked a minor demonstration, with nearly all those seated in the arena, men and women alike, jumping to their feet to catch a glimpse of the Gables.



When these stories were written, the Maxwell hadn’t been made for 25 years. While finding a 25-year-old car today might not seem difficult, this was an era where pre-war cars were turned into scrap metal for war materials, and people wanted fresh, new post-war cars, not something that looked ridiculously out of date. Considering this, how easy was it to dig up a Maxwell for Jack to parade around in? This story from page one of the May 23, 1950 Kokomo Tribune will give you an answer.

Sellers Brothers To Oblige Benny with 2 Maxwell Autos
BY GEORGE E. WELDEN
Tribune Staff Writer
When Jack Benny arrives with his gang at Indianapolis Wednesday—he will drive a Maxwell belonging to Tom and Don Sellers of Kokomo.
Tom and Don, accompanied by their sister, Mrs. Harry Stewart, will follow the Benny driven Maxwell in another from the Sellers stable.
The two spruced up Maxwells were taken to Indianapolis Tuesday by truck. The Sellers family will leave Wednesday morning to be on hand to greet the famous radio and movie star.
Time of arrival of the Benny entourage was not revealed.
Tom said Wednesday that Benny would meet the Sellers' two Maxwells at a street intersection near the downtown business section.
With Benny under the wheel, and Rochester at his side, the Maxwell will be driven around the Circle and to a hotel. The Sellers family will follow in the other Maxwell, "in case something should happen," Tom said.
According to Tom, he was asked by an Indianapolis group to bring the two Maxwells down for the radio star's arrival. Benny long has "driven" a Maxwell "over the air waves" and many quips about the ancient model car have been made a stock part of his radio show.
As far as is known, there are only three Maxwells in the state—that are in good running order—and two of these belong to the Sellers family. The other, Tom said, is being readied in Indianapolis for Benny to drive around the 500-mile Indianapolis Speedway Wednesday afternoon.
Benny and his gang are on a 21-day tour and will present a show in the Coliseum at the Fairgrounds Wednesday night.
Mrs. Alice Sellers and Harry Stewart will accompany the others to Indianapolis.

By the way, the photo at the top refers to hiding dishes. If you don’t know, the reference is to a Benny radio show in April when Jack explained to Rochester he “gave 50 cents to a bum,” and Rochester was in such shock, he dropped the dishes he was carrying. The Benny writers turned it into a running gag where the dishes would fall on their own whenever the act of charity was mentioned.

In real life, Jack’s tour stopped in Buffalo to help the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, then Carnegie Hall where he and Fred Allen traded words at a benefit for the Damon Runyon Cancer Fund (tickets: $1.80 to $6.00).

Meanwhile, an Associated Press story in late May 27 reported that University of California regents had accepted $1000 from Jack for surgical research at the UCLA Medical Centre. Even when he wasn’t there, Jack Benny was helping good causes.

The Making of Of Mice and Magic

There was a time, and this will be hard for people weaned on the internet to believe, when there was next-to-no information out there about animated cartoons, especially those without the name “Disney.”

In fact, cartoons weren’t treated seriously. They were something for kids. You were kind of an outcast if you were past the age of 12 and liked cartoons. You might have thought you were the only one out there.

But there were plenty of outcasts out there. And they were brought together when someone decided to write a history of animated cartoons.

That someone was not a dry, dull historian. He was the movie reviewer for the most populist television show dealing with show biz—Entertainment Tonight.

Leonard Martin’s name was known to millions of movie fans. He had instant credibility. And he and a team of trusty researchers began to delve into the glory days of animated shorts that had appeared on the big screen.

Remember, this is before internet sites and home video formats. If you wanted to watch a cartoon, you had to find a 35 or 16 millimetre print. The origins of some of the cartoons was muddied because their credits had been chopped off and replaced by the names of television distributors. As odd as it may seem to fans today, discovering there was something called Van Beuren Productions and that someone named Ub Iwerks had a studio that made cartoons were major revelations to many.

Of Mice and Magic banded together adults who loved Bugs Bunny, Tom and Jerry, Betty Boop, Woody Woodpecker, Mighty Mouse and many other characters from a dead movie era. And it provided the foundation for all further research.

Just how did the book get written? Maltin talked about it in a feature story that appeared in a Sunday edition of the Hartford Courant, Dec. 28, 1980.

Movie Writer's Work Was All Animated
By HENRY McNULTY
To Leonard Maltin—author, historian, and film buff extraordinaire—the limit of the 24-hour day is a major problem.
Maltin writes movie history, and that means seeing hundreds even thousands of films. The reference book "TV Movies," which he edited, is now in its ninth printing; he has just written "Of Mice and Magic," the first complete, scholarly history of American animated cartoons. And, he said, there simply isn't enough time in each day to do the research for such books, let alone the writing.
"I get very frustrated," he confessed recently in a conversation at his publisher's office. "How I got it done, I don't know," he said.
Living in New York City helped, said Maltin. In fact, it would have been nearly impossible for him to see so many movies if he had happened to live anywhere else—even Hollywood.
Maltin has a film collection of his own (mostly cartoons and short subjects), but for his research he also made use of the dozens of first-run theaters and movie revival houses in New York, had access to several private collections, took advantage of the plentitude of movies shown on television in New York and haunted the Department of Film at the Museum of Modern Art. "If you live in New York," he said, "you're all set."

The new book deals with the rise and fall of every American animated cartoon figure from Gertie the Dinosaur to Fritz the Cat. All the big ones are there, of course—Mickey Mouse, Betty Boop, Porky Pig, Tom and Jerry, Popeye, Mighty Mouse, Donald Duck, the Pink Panther, Woody Woodpecker, Bugs Bunny, Superman, Mr. Magoo, Casper the Ghost, Daffy Duck, Deputy Dawg, Farmer Al Falfa and dozens more. But there are also passages devoted to the importance of formerly popular characters who have nearly been forgotten. Koko the Clown, Bosko, Herman and Katnip, Flip the Frog, the Egghead, Barney Bear and Gerald McBoing Boing are all studied.
Maltin, 29, teaches a course in the history of animation at the New School for Social Research in New York. But his interest in cartoons goes back, as one would expect, to his childhood in Teaneck, N. J.
"My love of cartoons is based on TV and the shorts they used to show in the movies," he said. "I was a Saturday matinee freak—when they still had Saturday matinees."
The move away from merely enjoying films to writing about them came in Maltin's early childhood. He and a friend put out a neighborhood newsletter dealing mainly with comic books and films; it was printed using a device known as a hectograph, basically a plate of firm gelatin which is used to transfer written images. (It’s a lot easier in this age of Xerox, when any kid with a nickel can get something copied," he commented.)
This led to a mimeographed magazine—"a giant leap forward" which featured the young Maltin's interviews with the likes of cartoonists Jules Feiffer, Charles Shulz [sic] and Rube Goldberg.
In his early teen-age years, he began contributing occasional articles to a Canadian journal called Film Fan Monthly, a struggling publication with a mere 400 subscribers. “It was offset-printed," Maltin said. "This was Valhalla for me." After a while, however, the man who headed the magazine discovered that he couldn't keep it up and offered to turn the whole business over to Maltin, by then his premier writer. At age 15, the film buff found himself in the publishing business.
"We dealt with old Hollywood movies," he said. "From the '20s, '30s and '40s. Everybody worked for free, of course, and we loved writing about film personalities who weren't the really popular ones. We were almost doggedly non-commercial; we'd say, 'I don't want to do this—just because everybody else is doing it.’” Film Fan Monthly eventually built its circulation to about 2,000.
While editing the magazine, Maltin continued his education, though he considered Film Fan Monthly "much more important than high school." (He said he was a better-than-average student, although between seeing hundreds of movies and writing about them, he found little time for his studies.)

In his senior year, Maltin was introduced to an editor at the New American Library publishing house who was a fellow film fan. The editor, it turned out, was a subscriber to Film Fan Monthly—and was surprised to discover that this 18-year-old was the brains behind the magazine.
The rest, as they say, is history. The book editor had been searching for someone to put together an encyclopedic guide to old movies on TV and, before long, he and Maltin had signed a contract. "TV Movies" has been updated over and over again, and now contains listings for some 13,000 movies and 1,200 more made-for-TV films.
During the 1970s, Maltin attended New York University and majored in journalism. More books followed, all dealing with films of one type or another—"Movie Comedy Teams," "Our Gang," "The Great Movie Shorts" and others.
Maltin attended an International Animation Festival in Zagreb, Yugoslavia, in 1974, and while there got to talk to animators, fimmmakers, journalists, artists and others in the cartoon business. He also saw about 200 animated films and became interested all over again in his first love, cartoons.
Back in the United States, he made some inquiries and discovered that almost nothing in a serious vein had been written about animated cartoons.
"A lot of books talked about early experiments he said, "and of course there was lots of stuff on Disney. But as for Bugs Bunny, Popeye, or anything like that—forget it."
So he started assembling material. He reviewed and organized his own cartoon collection, and began viewing obscure or forgotten cartoons at the Museum of Modern Art (a service, by the way, that is open mostly to experts and scholars, not to the general public). "It was all original research," he said, "because so little had been written."
During his research, Maltin always carried a notebook to screenings—a practice of his for years now. "I try to rely on my memory, but sometimes it just can't be done," he said. "I'm sure to forget some minor but important point."
He also made it a point to talk to cartooning pioneers. "I cornered John Hubley (the Disney animator who later headed UPA Studios) at a cocktail party," Maltin said. "He has since died. I was very lucky to get to talk to him. And others filled me in on a lot of material; Dick Huemer is a virtual one-man history of animation. He started with Mutt and Jeff and went through Disney, Fleischer, Mintz—he wrote 'Dumbo' for Disney."
Not one person Maltin asked for an interview turned him down. "Everybody in this field feels very keenly the neglect that animation has suffered over the years," he said.
"Of Mice and Magic" deals with such subjects as why it was so difficult to animate the Seven Dwarfs (they all had to move in different ways, yet keep in step) and how the success of Hanna-Barbera cartoons on TV changed Warner Brothers' Looney Tunes series. It is informative on such technical matters as Max Fleischer's rotograph and Disney's multiplane camera.
But it also takes a nostalgic look at the "stars" of animated cartoons and the characteristics that endeared them to millions of children—and adults. Popeye's fondness (nay, obsession) for spinach; Woody Woodpecker's inspired zaniness; and Bugs Bunny's cheerful "What's up, Doc?" are all treated with affection.

Bugs is Maltin's favorite cartoon star, although he added hastily, "I like so many for so many different reasons."
He isn't only captivated with old-timers, either; many of today's cartoons fascinate him, but he pointed out: "Most people only see what is shown on TV on Saturday morning. And if they see that, they see garbage there's no getting around it."
Animated cartoon festivals are held in various places all the time, he said. Last year, he attended a festival in Canada which featured some 600 different brand-new animated firms—some short, some long, some serious, some humorous, some fantastic and some realistic. "The talent is there," Maltin said. "The technique is there. But the films are being done by people who are starving."
He suggests that those who like cartoons petition local colleges and museums to book The Tournee of Animation and other traveling film packages that highlight recent animated films. But he quickly admits that the public may not take to foreign animated films with the zest that greeted Mickey Mouse. "I know I know," he said.
"People think, ‘Yugoslavian cartoons? Get away!’ What they want to see is Tweety and Sylvester! But I can tell you that seeing new animated films is not like swallowing medicine. It's like watching wonderful movies."
With the cartoon book into a paperback printing and the 1981-82 edition of "TV Movies" behind him, Maltin says he is now "quieting down" in his movie-viewing habits. What that means is being content with seeing every new film in New York, reviewing old favorites, and not worrying about much else.
"My quieting down," he said, "is someone else's film mania."

Of Mice and Magic proved the commercial saleability of research involving the history of animated cartoons and the people who made them. From it sprang, slowly but surely, further revived knowledge of cartoons through fresh interviews and old films. We, as fans of cartoons, have all benefited. The internet has been a boon. Yes, well-meaning people have published their hard-to-kill personal theories as cold, hard factual history. But oceans of information about cartoons are now available with a few keystrokes. Video cassettes, then laser discs, then CDs/Blu-rays have brought animated shorts into the home that would have been almost impossible to see before, some thanks to incredible amounts of love by fans that have restored them.

Leonard Maltin deserves some credit for sparking all this. I’ve never met him, but I do thank him.

Cat Eye

Don Williams liked multiple ghost-eyes when moving characters, and you can see it in various cartoons he worked on in the Art Davis unit at Warner Bros.

Here’s a brief example in Mouse Menace, the first cartoon from the Davis group to be released. Writer George Hill’s gag has the robot (Porky pronounces it “roe-butt”) cat behaving like a real cat by cleaning himself.



Porky disappears halfway through the cartoon as the cat battles a one-shot mouse, destroying the pig’s house in the process.

Manny Gould and Cal Dalton also received animation credits and Tom McKimson handled layouts. It sounds like Carl Stalling wrote much of his own music in this cartoon.

Davis became a director in April 1945 but this cartoon did not hit screens until November 1946.