Walter Lantz Goes High Class

Walter Lantz had a bonafide star in Woody Woodpecker. But as World War Two was ending, he wanted something more.

The “something more” wasn’t Andy Panda. Even Lantz understood Andy’s potential stardom was limited. He talked about it to the United Press in this story from June 22, 1946.

Children Favor Cartoon Figures Which Get into Mischief
By PATRICIA CLARY
HOLLYWOOD—(UP)—Cartoon Producer Walter Lantz believes that children like brash cartoon characters because they get away with mischief that would bring the youngsters a spanking.
That's why, Lantz said, his cocky Woody Woodpecker was more popular than gentle Andy Panda, and why noisy Donald Duck outdraws Mickey Mouse.
"Seeing cartoons is what you might call psychological sublimation for the kids," he explained. "They wish to do the things Woody Woodpecker does, but they can't get away with it. So they let off steam by watching him get away with it."
Lantz has other ideas for the children, however. He's going to improve their musical intelligence with cartoons based on famous classical pieces.
"I think that the time is ripe for good music," he said, "but it has to be presented in an understandable way. The stories behind our music will not necessarily have anything to do with the opera, for instance, from which it is taken. But the stories will bring the moods of the music to life."
His animators are having plenty of trouble filling an assignment like that. But they've been well trained for it. It takes nine years, he told us, to train a topflight animator. And there's no way to learn except by working. "We worked out a careful analysis of our training periods in order to help the many veterans who are working as cartooning apprentices under the GI Bill,” Lantz said.
"A first class animator, for instance, starts with an idea and roughs out sketches here and there in the continuity to illustrate his idea.
“Then the class-two animator gets the idea from that and draws every other sketch. The apprentice animator consequently has a close pattern to follow when he draws the in-between panels."
Sometimes, Lantz said, his animators get so well-trained at drawing animals that they forget how to draw humans. Then he tells them to take a week off at art school and get back in form.
But there won't be any human characters in Lantz's cartoons. Not any longer. One pretty—a Latin miss—was enough.
"The censors got after me," he said. "Said she swung her hips when she walked. Who doesn't?"
"I'll stick to animals," he said. "You can't offend them."

The way Lantz is talking, you’d think he had mini-versions of Fantasia in mind. Of course, that kind of animation would be expensive, but Lantz, musical director Darrell Calker and his writers found ways to incorporate gags around a framework of classical music.

Universal released The Poet and the Peasant as an Andy Panda cartoon on March 16, 1946, though Variety reported on June 15, 1944 that cutting had been completed. The cartoon was nominated for an Oscar. Lantz decided to go ahead with a Musical Miniature series, though it doesn't appear all the cartoons bore that title:

Musical Moments from Chopin, (Universal, February 24, 1947, Oscar nominated).
The Overture to William Tell, (Universal, June 16, 1947).
The Bandmaster, (United Artists, December 22, 1947).
Kiddie Concert, (United Artists, April 21, 1948).
Pixie Picnic, (United Artists, May 28, 1948).

The Chopin cartoon was ready well before its release. It was previewed in an interview with Lantz in the Valley Times, October 15, 1946, who explains how they were made.

Valley Cartoon Master Believes in Artistry
By HAZEL FLYNN
The other night at a preview I saw an unusual cartoon called “Chopin’s Musical Moments.”
Here for the first time was some of the world’s great music combined with cinema art and animation.
The leading character was a cute little fellow, Andy Panda. Andy sat down to play a concert in the barn and was doing nicely when a saucy red-haired chap, Woody Woodpecker, came in to polish the piano. Deciding he could play too, he joined in and soon such selections as “Fantasy Impromptu” and “Scherzo" began to emerge.
Imaginative
Then it waxed dramatic. A fire started and the flames took over, evening running up and down the keys. But did the intrepid performers cease playing? They did not until note of the Polonaise had died away.
It was humor and it was culturally satisfying. I knew at once that it had Academy Award possibilities, so I decide[d] to find out more about it.
Yesterday I met the producer and creative artist back of “Chopin’s Musical Moments"—Walter Lantz. Mild-mannered, greying at the temples, he admits being 46 and one of the industry’s pioneers line.
Valley Studio
At his Valley studio he has turned out literally hundreds of animated subjects. A former New York American employe he created “Colonel Heezaliar," one of the earliest silent cartoons more than 27 years ago. He worked for the famous Bray studios. Ask mother or dad about the early Bray cartoons, such as “Out of the Inkwell”). Lantz was brought to California by the late Carl Laemmle to start a department at Universal . . . He’s been here ever since . . . What is more, he can still draw—which cannot be said of many producers in the same game.
Besides creating Andy and Woody he publishes the Walter Lantz New Funnies magazine, one of the best read comic books in the country. He gets thousands of fan letters from kids who want to know what Woody and Andy eat—whether they are kept in cages, etc. Naturally, he never intends to lose this audience if he can help it.
The Chopin picture is one of the series he calls “Musical Miniatures.” Another uses Rossini’s Overture to William Tell, with a 45 piece orchestra performing. Still another will incorporate the Zampa overture and he may soon do one based on “Die Fledermaus" as well as “The Nutcracker Suite.”
Music Comes First
He has an odd way of doing these “Miniatures." He picks the music first, then has the story tailored to fit—a difficult job, he admits.
The classics are never distorted in Lantz cartoons, for he feels that in making use of them he is doing something which will prove educational as well as entertaining, especially to youth.
Lantz lives in Encino in a ranch house with his wife, the former Grace Stafford, star of the Henry Duffy players for seven years, two great Dane dogs and the "only indoor barbecue in the Valley which doesn’t smoke. He figured out a way to prevent the smoking and paid through the nose to have his plan followed.
Smoke-abater Lantz is president of the Cartoon Producers’ association and he regrets that the cartoon is still underrated. He points to how this type of film has improved in the past ten years. Whereas 2500 drawings were used in silent days, a cartoon today may use more than 25,000. The artists are better. Most of the artists and animators today are art school graduates. The cost of Chopin's Musical Moments” is another example of how they have improved. The negative cost alone was nearly $50,000.
Appreciation Lack
Yet, he says, the average cartoon is still billed as an also-ran, even in critical comment. He hates those "also on the bill" cracks. And the revenue derived from these important portions of the theater program has not increased either. He says cartoons have not benefited from lush easy money, war days.
Perhaps with elimination of “B” pictures the situation will change. Walter Lantz hopes so. He also feels that the vogue for introducing cartoon sequences in big features may help exhibitor appreciation. He did one of the first of these sequences in technicolor for Paul Whiteman’s "King of Jazz."
Another thing which would help the cause would be a new name, he feels. Just imagine, he says, if full length pictures were billed as “longies." The term might run patrons right out of the theaters. Therefore, he’d like a word to substitute for the term "short.”
If you can think of one, let Walter know. He’s pitting his lance on the side of cartoons for culture—and more cash. And don’t you dare call them "shorts," either.

Whatever you want to call them, they had top animators working on them—Freddy Moore, Pat Matthews, Emery Hawkins, Ed Love, among them—and former Disney animator Dick Lundy directing. They may not have been as funny as, say, Rhapsody Rabbit, but they’re enjoyable enough to watch. Hawkins fans, especially, should love his work on The Poet and the Peasant.

This was a high period for the Lantz studio which ended before the decade was out. Lantz’s deal with United Artists went sour and he shut down his operation for over a year, spending his time touring. Erskine Johnson’s column of Feb. 15, 1949 talked of a Woody Woodpecker feature when Lantz returned. When Lantz’s stripped-down studio re-opened, there was no feature. And the Musical Miniatures were finished, too. You can read more about them in this post and enjoys Devon Baxter's examination of one in this entry at Cartoon Research.

Mouth of Oswald

Oswald the rabbit’s girl-friend hears music. She wants to hear it better. Here’s the gag.



Cut to an overhead shot of Oswald and his banjo. Oswald pokes his head toward the camera, like Van Beuren did in its cartoons a few years later.



This is from Rival Romeos (1928), one of the Disney Oswald shorts. A theatre manager in Manitoba told one trade paper: “Excellent cartoon. Best in some time.” Chester J. Smith of the Motion Picture News put it: “The various characters are put through a series of evolutions that should provoke considerable mirth.” I guess he means it’s funny.

Peter Marshall

He was heralded as part of the second coming of Martin and Lewis. About the only thing Peter Marshall had in common with them is he and his nightclub partner split up.

Neither Dean or Jerry starred in La Cage Aux Folles, but Marshall did. He appeared on stage in Vancouver as part of a touring company, though he missed a performance to fly to Los Angeles to tape a TV commercial.

Comedian. Actor. Singer. Those labels will likely never be applied to Peter Marshall. He’s known to just about everyone as the “master” of Hollywood Squares.

Like just about everyone in show biz, it was a slow rise to fame for Marshall. His first appearance on television I can find is on September 21, 1949 on KBNH’s “Hollywood Premiere Theater.” Wrote columnist Zuma Palmer: “A top act was that in which Tom Noonan and Peter Marshall took off various types of radio programs, among them man-in-the-street interviews and Mr. Anthonys.”

Noonan and Marshall puttered around nightclubs, including La Martinique in New York in 1950. They were booked into the New Golden Hotel-Bank Club starting June 11, 1952. “The meteoric rise of the Noonan-Marshall comedy duo has been nothing short of phenomenal,” wrote the Reno Gazette, “meteoric” evidently meaning three years. “Disciples of wholesome, family-style comedy, they climax each performance with their now famous “Television Chef” routine. Their performance was one of the highlights of the Warner Brothers’ recent movie production, ‘Starlift.’ In addition to their wholesome comedy as a team, Peter Marshall departs from his ‘straight-man’ role to sing several of his recent recording vocal renditions.”

After Martin and Lewis split, Twentieth-Century Fox figured the world was ready for a replacement, so in 1959 it cast Noonan and Marshall in the feature The Rookie directed by someone no one thinks of as a film director—the voice of George Jetson, George O’Hanlon. In 1961, they made one motion picture—Swingin’ Along, written by former animation director Jerry Brewer. The same year, Marshall and Paul Gilbert shot a failed pilot for NBC called Shore Leave.

Then came Hollywood Squares.

Marshall admitted in his autobiography he took the job because he didn’t want Dan Rowan to get it. Noonan was suffering from a brain tumour (he died in 1968) and Marshall felt Rowan was being a Dick Martin (subtract the word “Martin”) to his former partner. The game show was a huge success and Marshall was now a name.

Here’s a piece from the Associated Press that appeared in papers in October 1969.

A DAYTIME HOLLYWOOD SQUARE
By CYNTHIA LOWRY
AP Television Writer
Peter Marshall has an identity problem. He is not related to the late chaplain of the U.S. Senate whose name was the same. Nor is he related to Russell Nype or to Gene Rayburn, with whom he is sometimes confused.
This Peter Marshall is the man who has been serving for four years as host on one of NBC's more popular daytime game shows, Hollywood Squares, and is, as a consequence, better known to the distaff side of the audience.
• • •
MARSHALL WAS born Pierre LaCock and grew up with his sister Joanne in New York City. When Joanne got into modeling, her agent renamed her Joanne Marshall. When Pierre decided to get into show business, he simply translated his first name into English and adopted his sister's modeling surname. Then, just to make everything good and mixed up, Joanne moved on to Hollywood where director Howard Hawks renamed her Joanne Dru, under which name she became a star.
Although no one has, as yet, developed an adequate tag for that small band of television performers who ride herd on game and panel shows—"host" or "M.C." are commonly used and neither really fits—the ones who are assigned to successful network ventures of the genre are in clover.
The compensation is excellent, the hours are superb—Marshall and his troupe tape a week's worth of shows in one day—and the exposure to the public is subtly beneficial. Marshall has the other four days of the normal work week to pursue other interests, including acting, singing—he just cut an album—and business.
Perhaps the greatest of these is business, because Peter Marshall's most lucrative a vocation involves commercials. As a matter of fact, it was the commercials that got him into television, Hollywood brand.
• • •
"I WAS DOING a show in New York—playing with Julie Harris in 'Skyscraper,' " Marshall recalled. "My agent asked me if I'd like to do some television commercials."

Marshall drew himself to his full height and announced he would not like—"I am an actor."
The agent, however, was persuasive, and the reluctant Marshall did one commercial spot for a cereal company. The result was a three-year, exclusive deal.
Before Hollywood Squares, Marshall packed in a lot of show business experience. After serving as an NBC page, he teamed up with comedian Tommy Noonan and, as a straight man for 13 years, played clubs all over the country.
"I think those years as a straight man were the most valuable asset I had when Hollywood Squares came along," Marshall said. "In one sense, the host on a game show is a straight man."
After Noonan died, Marshall had the male lead in the London company of "Bye, Bye Birdie" and continued in musical comedy with the Julie Harris vehicie. In between, he was appearing in minimusicals in Las Vegas—as far back as the 1950s—with occasional excursions into stock.
• • •
MARSHALL ENJOYS working with the regulars on Hollywood Squares who include Cliff Arquette, Wally Cox, Abby Dalton, Rose Marie, Paul Lynde and Jan Murray.
The game, physically based on tic-tac-toe, has the stars answering questions, in comedy style, with members of the studio audience winning small prizes by deciding whether the answers are true or false.
There was a small rhubarb when it was learned that some of the stars received "help" on the answers to the questions, but since the help had nothing to do with the winning or losing by the audience contestants, the producers had not announced it on the show. Now there is a printed notice to that effect.
Marshall says most of the stars do receive what he calls "hokes" to leaven their answers.
He, his wife, and their four children live in the San Fernando Valley.
Marshall, in some of that dandy spare time, has written one film play, “Mary Jane,” and recently has collaborated with Dick Gautier on another, “God Bless You, Uncle Sam,” a black comedy which will soon go into production.
"In a way," he said, "it all really started with those commercials I didn't want to do. That's where the producers of the game show first saw me. I'm glad I was persuaded to sell cereal."

Marshall talked a bit more about the show in this Dec. 1971 feature story from the TV Key syndicate.

Peter Marshall, the handsome host of NBC's long-running game show "The Hollywood Squares," was a juvenile until he turned 40. "I had to go around the track once before I matured," he said. "Something like an actor I know who was refused a role because he was too pretty. The producer said he had the kind of face that needed a scar. I guess that was my problem. And now that I've aged properly, I'm straight man for a game show board of screwballs, but I'm good at it."
Marshall's appraisal of his performance on "Squares" is an honest one. He claims he has seen himself turn in some terrible acting jobs, but when he watches "Squares," he is convinced they got the right man for the job.
"To my way of thinking," he said, "all game show hosts should be compared to Bill Cullen and Monty Hall. They're the top, and you grade down from there. But on 'Squares,' I'm in a slightly different arena. I have no way of knowing what kind of line the stars are going to throw at me — even if it's a prepared gag, I'm not told — and I have to be ready to react or counter with an appropriate straight line. I was a working comedian for many years — all to prepare me for 'Squares.' "

NBC is so pleased with Peter, Charlie Weaver, Paul Lynde, Wally Cox and the semi-regulars who fill out the board, that people over there renewed the show for five years and ordered extra editions to be syndicated nationally for nighttime viewing. The deal is such a lucrative one that Peter has gone into the game show business on his own hoping to make a nice profit by reinvesting his extra cash.
"I have a children's show idea at NBC which looks pretty good," he said. "It's based on a process I have taken an option on which makes drawings seem to talk. I used it for a children's quiz."
If Marshall occasionally looks over his shoulder, it's because he expects to be arrested for stealing. He still considers doing "Squares" great fun and the "work" schedule is ridiculous.
"I meet a few friends one afternoon a week, and we throw a few jokes back and forth while NBC tapes two episodes," Marshall said. "Then we go out for dinner, laugh like crazy, come back and tape three more. Naturally, by now we've worked so hard that we go out, drink and have a party. And we're being paid?"
Prior to "Squares," Pete was a successful comedian and actor. He appeared in musicals on Broadway, and the experience is now paying off in unexpected dividends. When the summer stock season rolls around, everybody in the business knows that Paul Lynde is big box-office in middle-America, but Marshall proudly reports that he is closing in.
"I did tremendous business in 'The Music Man' last summer in St. Louis," said Marshall, "and I'm looking around for something to try this season. Suzanne Pleshette and I are thinking of teaming up to tour in Frank Gilroy's play 'Only Game in Town.'"
Unlike may people who've been doing the same thing professionally for some years (I'll discuss Monty Hall in the near future), Pete Marshall hopes "Squares" runs forever. He paid his dues on the nightclub circuit, stock companies and just knocking around, although he proudly asserts that his handsome, juvenile face was rarely unemployed.
With "Squares" requiring only one day a week, he busies himself writing (an original story of his is being made into a film), packaging TV shows and doing guest shots.
Born in West Virginia but raised in New York, Marshall now lives with his wife and four children in California. His eldest son, Peter Leacock Jr. [sic] (apparently Peter Marshall and his sister, actress Joanne Dru, were originally named Leacock) is a highly touted outfielder in the Chicago Cubs' farm system, and Pete expects to be seeing the boy in the major leagues very soon.

NBC cancelled Hollywood Squares in 1980 and the show's syndicated run ended a year later. Marshall got a chance to sing on television on his own syndicated variety show while Squares was still in production. I don't recall if he ever sang a bar or two on the game show, but he recorded its original theme song (Bill Loose was asked to write a similar tune, which replaced "The Silly Song").

Once Upon a Time

Bob Clampett goes for atmosphere in the opening of Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs (1943). Even in this print, you can see the shadows and (Ace Gamer’s?) effects animation of the fire.



The cartoon contains silhouette animation, and moody, dark-bluish woods, apparently painted by Mike Sasanoff.

Clampett’s war-era energy is on display, as characters zip around in the frame, sometimes “past the camera.” Rhyming dialogue gives the cartoon some rhythm. There’s rubbery animation aplenty (Rod Scribner gets the revolving animation credit, Virgil Ross once talked about his animation on it). And while Tex Avery had Red strut on stage over at MGM, Clampett has So White waving her butt in the air in this Schlesinger cartoon.

The cartoon ends the way it started, with the same at-the-fireplace animation, and without cutting to the usual rings as the end titles appear.

McHale, Movies and Merman

United Press International columnist Vernon Scott began a story in 1964 with the words: “Never, never take an actor’s words at face value.”

He should have taken his own advice.

That year, Scott wrote several columns about McHale’s Navy. Maybe the most fascinating interview was with the show’s star, Ernie Borgnine. Ostensibly, the column was about the series graduating to feature film status. But it took a detour to talk about what became a very uncomfortable subject—Borgnine’s pending marriage to Ethel Merman.

I suspect if you’re a reader of this blog, you’re up on show biz history enough to know the union was one of the biggest disasters in Hollywood. It lasted 38 days. Stories abound (we’ll skip the specifics) that leave you with the impression the marriage was doomed before it happened.

However, when Scott penned his column, that was all in the future. Everything was happiness and rainbows, at least if you want to believe Borgnine’s comments. The story appeared on March 28, 1964.

McHale Navy Sails Into Films
By VERNON SCOTT
HOLLYWOOD (UPI)—Out at Revue Studios they're so pleased with "McHale's Navy" a movie is being made starring the same raucus [sic] crew of the television series.
Ernie Borgnine, bungling skipper of the raffish PT boat swabbies, is as pleased as he is punchy.
"We could be the only outfit in history that makes a series of movies and television shows at the same time," he said, pushing his naval officer's cap to the back of his head.
"Yes sir, we could become a perennial like the 'Andy Hardy' movies were. I think we're the first ones to try it anyhow."
Jack Webb tried it once with “Dragnet" and fell right on his Sergeant Friday badge. But Borgnine's enthusiasm is catching.
"We're flattered they chose our little old half-hour comedy to be made into a picture," he said, sprawling out on the couch of his spacious dressing room on the Revue lot.
“We’ll have it working both ways for us. People who like the TV series will go to see the movies. And people who go to see the movie will want to tune in the series. How about that?"
The big fellow's optimism is understandable. He’s about to become a bridegroom for the third time and if that doesn't qualify him as an unreconstructed optimist, nothing will. He and actress Ethel Merman become Mr. and Mrs. June 27.
"This is going to be a wonderful marriage," he said. "Ethel's a terrific girl and were really in love."
Ernie is already looking ahead to the time when "McHale's Navy" is scuttled by the ratings, an unlikely event in the foreseeable future. But if and when it is deep-sixed, the Oscar- winning actor (Marty) would like to see Ethel and Ernie co-star in a series.
"We could be sort of a modern 'Min and Bill,’ you know, like Marie Dressler and Wallace Beery. Not that Ethel has anything in common with Marie Dressler. We could have a lot of fun with a show like that."
The movie version of "McHale's Navy" will take four-weeks to complete, compared to the three-day schedule for the video segments.
"We're getting the ‘A’ treatment now,” Borgnine grinned. "They're calling me Mr. Borgnine instead of Ernie and they brought the portable dressing room right on the stage for me. What's more they're paying me top regular movie salary, which runs into six figures.
"I think the public will flip for this picture. It's a great script and it's being shot in color. We even had a bigger PT boat built for the movie."
New and expensive sets have been constructed for the picture. They will be kept for future use in the series.
"It's a big boost financially and psychologically for everybody connected with the show," Ernie concluded, "even if it does mean I'll only have six weeks for a honeymoon instead of four months."

Honeymoon for six weeks!!? The marriage didn’t even last that long. (Columnist Earl Wilson revealed after the two separated he had received a card from a very happy Merman on her honeymoon. He learned he shouldn’t have taken that at face value, either).

The feature film contained an irony. Part of the plot involved Borgnine’s McHale trying to get out of a pending marriage.



1964 may have been the climax for McHale’s Navy. A female equivalent series (produced by McHale’s creator, Edward J. Montagne) called Broadside debuted that year. It had a fine cast, but survived only one season of 32 episodes. Another McHale movie came out the following year—but without McHale, as Borgnine was tied up on another film.

The series switched locations from the South Pacific to Italy for the final season, but that couldn’t save it from the ABC axe in 1966. In glancing through Scott’s columns that year, it doesn’t appear he got a follow-up from Ernest Borgnine. Or Ethel Merman.

Don't Ask Questions

In the climax of Wags to Riches (1949), Spike lathers Droopy with shaving cream to make it look like he’s a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth.



Cut to Spike calling the dog catcher on the phone. Cut back to Spike and Droopy, with a fan blowing the “mad dog” foam onto Spike.



What’s that? Some cartoon fan is saying “How did that fan and table get there?”

It’s very simple. This is a cartoon.

Tex Avery could have put the fan there to begin with, but it would have been in the way of the staging of the gag.

Below is what happens to people who take cartoons too literally.



Just enjoy Tex Avery’s work, okay?

Jack Cosgriff and Rich Hogan are credited with the story in this one, while Bobe Cannon was still animating for Avery at this point.

Biscuit 1, Axis 0

Walter Lantz had the perfect aggressive cartoon character to take on Hitler, Mussolini and Tojo. For some reason, the Lantz studio never pitted Woody Woodpecker against the leaders of the Allies’ enemies. Instead, it was left to hillbillies in the Swing Symphony Pass the Biscuits, Mirandy (1943).

The first two-thirds of the cartoons involve the cliché of a feud amongst mountaineers set to the title song, with Darrell Calker’s brass and boogie-woogie piano arrangement in the background. The biscuits in question are as hard as rocks. The short takes a turn, a la the Gary Cooper film Sergeant York (1941) where the hillbilly menfolk are told to sign up for war. Mirandy does, too.

Look who shows up in a tank.



The uncredited director cuts to re-used footage of Mirandy being grazed in the butt and using a garter as a slingshot to launch one of her boulder biscuits.



Mirandy’s a crack shot. With one biscuit, she blows up the Axis tank.



An old animation trick of flashing colour cards to emphasize the explosion.



Bugs Hardaway and/or Milt Schaffer pull a switch on the food gag where Popeye punches a steer and beef products fall from the sky, or when a car hits a pig and a chicken and hams and eggs on a plate drop from above. Let’s see. We have a German, an Italian and a Japanese guy.



The title song irises out to make a familiar wartime push.



There’s more about the song and the cartoon in this post.

Teeth, Eggs and 39

How often is a star’s birthday front-page news? Especially if it’s not a milestone, like 90 or 100, but the same old birthday, year after year.

Well, it was in the case of Jack Benny.

Jack didn’t just get laughs when he claimed he was 39 when it’s obvious he wasn’t. He got publicity. It seems whenever February 14th rolled around (Jack began the “39” claim in 1948), at least one of the wire services wrote about his birthday. We’ve reprinted a number of these columns in this blog.

I’ve stumbled across another one, a rather short piece written for the Associated Press which hit the wires on the 14th and 15th of February 1964. It was picked up in papers from Honolulu to Portland, Maine. Remarkably, I’ve found it on the front page of the San Pedro News-Gazette in California, the Buffalo Evening News, the Daily Star-Journal of Warrensburg, Missouri and the Glens Falls Times in New York, to give you several examples. It shows you how much Jack Benny was enjoyed across the U.S., almost 32 years after he had begun his radio show.

The story echoes something George Burns used to tell about Benny—how Jack would rave, almost to the point of embarrassment, that he had just had “the best coffee I ever tasted” or “the best shoeshine I ever had.”

Oldest 39-Yr.-Old
Guess Who Is Not Really 39
By JAMES BACON
AP Movie-Television Writer
HOLLYWOOD (AP) — Jack Benny, the oldest living 39-year-old, celebrates his 70th birthday today.
He doesn’t look it or feel it.
He makes one comment:
“Thank God, I haven’t had a sick day in my life.”
The other day he had a polyp removed from his nose but that was just a minor interruption in his busy television schedule. The doctors asked him what anesthetic he was allergic to.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve never taken any before. I’ve never even had a tooth pulled.
Enthusiasm is the key to Benny’s secret Fountain of Youth. No man in town enthuses about or remembers the little things of life as does Jack.
Once when he attended a party at the White House during the Truman administration, he and a friend decided to wind up the evening with a walk. A few blocks from the White House, they stopped in a little diner and ordered ham and eggs.
“You know,” enthused Jack, “these are the greatest ham and eggs I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
Five years later, the same two attended a White House party given by President Eisenhower.
Jack’s after party comment:
“I want some more of those ham and eggs.”

I was going to end the post here but decided to hunt around and see if anyone else wrote about Jack’s birthday on Feb. 14, 1964. The answer is “yes.” There were several columns, all praising Benny. I’ve decided to reprint a feature story from Newsday.

Benny's 70 Today—What's His Secret?
By Shirley Wood
Newsday Special Correspondent
Hollywood—Quit? Are you kidding? Jack Benny, celebrating his 70th birthday today, has no intention of quitting. Not only is the comedian entering his fifth year of doing a weekly show on television but he also has elevated his violin from a joke to a second career. Show business is one of the most difficult fields in which to stay at the top, but Benny has been one of its top moneymakers for 30 years. Other and younger stars have fallen into semi-retirement or lesser roles in entertainment. But Benny goes on and on.
How does he do it? His secret in escaping the effect of time consists of careful preparation for growing old. This is evidenced in two ways: by maintaining a careful watch over his physical activities and by remaining alert to changes in the public's taste in comedy. Consequently, the Jack Benny Show seems ageless even though its star has in fact long since passed his perennial 39.
Cheats Father Time
Benny's appearance, to be sure, lends substance to the jest about his age. In face and carriage, in the quickness of his step and the sparkle in his blue eyes, he gives the impression of man no more than 50. "A woman cheats on her age a little bit and it's okay," Benny remarks. "Instead of cheating a little, I cheat a lot."
He is certainly not one to let his actual age interfere with his activities, but Benny has imperceptibly but effectively altered his pace to suit the advancing years. The comedian has always taken care of himself and is taking better care himself as he gets older.
"Jack was never one to live high," says Irving Fein, producer of the Benny program, "so he never developed any bad habits to abandon. But he is watching himself more carefully these days. His doctor tells him what he should weigh and he gets more than one or two pounds over, says, 'Oh no, I'm putting it on,’ and he diets moderately until he's back down again.
Regular medical checkups have been another part of Benny's recognition that time continues its march. He knows the unprejudiced eye of doctor can often spot a condition that a patient would ignore. So far Benny has had no extreme medical problems. Sunday he underwent surgery for removal of a benign polyp at the back of nasal passage. But his surgeon reported afterward that the comedian's condition was good. He went home Tuesday and is now convalescing without apparent ill effect.

In keeping his TV program apace with the times, Benny is a constant and serious student of the humor business. He watches new comedians in action and remains sensitive to changes in the public mood. He keeps his material up-to-date and alternates the many fundamental gags he has developed over the years, always presenting them in different ways.
Many stars of show business have succumbed to "over exposure" and Benny's type of weekly show is considered an easy medium in which to contract this frustrating ailment. One reason Benny has escaped this problem is his concept of what his own place in the show should be.
The Jack Benny Show without its star is inconceivable, but he isn't a camera hog. Over the years he has functioned on the basis of building up guest stars and members of his cast in the interest of the show as a whole. "You know," Fein says, "Jack has had whole shows without a really funny line for himself. If things work out so that Don Wilson or Dennis Day or Rochester get the big laughs, that's great." Benny describes his method this way: "I never have time for jealousy. To have a good show, you have to keep everybody happy."
Almost from the beginning of his days on radio, the Benny show had one quality that was unusual (and is even rarer today in television): continuity of personnel. This quality makes possible the smoothly functioning organization that allows Benny, at 70, to do a weekly show. There are key people, such as the producer, director, writers, announcer and half a dozen cast members, any one of whom could cause a minor upheaval if he were to depart. On the Benny show they don't leave. Fein, the producer, has been with Benny for 18 years. The two "new" writers, Al Gordon and Haln Goldman [sic], arrived three years later, joining Sam Perrin and George Balzer, who have been writing for Benny since 1941 [actually 1943].
Serious Joke
Benny used to play the violin purely for laughs. About six years ago he did a skit in which he dreamed he was a concert violinist. One of the studio violinists gave him a few lessons to add realism to the skit. To his amazement, Benny found that he could make music that wasn't bad. Now he practices as much as two hours a day. His concerts, in which he plays a little and clowns a lot, have raised nearly $3,000,000 for debt-ridden symphony associations all over America.
Jack Benny, at 70, looks to the future: "Doing my show gets easier every year," he declares. "I've never had a year that wasn't easier, and more fun, than the one before."

Even though Jack stopped joking about “39” toward the end of his life—he told reporters the gag had outlived itself—fans still associated it with him when he passed away. The venerable Los Angeles Times, in its obituary in 1974, simply wrote: “He was 39.” 50 years later, the gag lives on.

Gumby at NBC

Stop motion animation in the days of network television after 1947 meant maybe one thing—commercials. Jam Handy created a series of spots for American Tobacco featuring marching Lucky Strike cigarettes.

And then came Art Clokey.

Clokey had been a divinity student who found his religious training not so divine. A biography in an NBC news release re-written by Arlene Garber in the April 17, 1957 issue of the Hollywood Citizen-News revealed Clokey:

[A]t one time studied at the Hartford Theological School for entrance into the Episcopal ministry. Later when he felt that ministry was not his field he studied geology which gave him the chance to take color movies when he went on field trips.
After the war, Clokey attended USC where he had classes under Slavko Vorkapich, film pioneer. When he graduated on cinema work he realized the creative and research possibilities in the medium.
HIS BEGINNING
For some years after, he taught at a girls’ school in Santa Barbera courses which included algebra, chemistry, Latin and biology. In his spare time he did a three-minute silent commercial for a soup company. From that beginning and a $50 film investment plus innumerable telephone calls to all firms listed in the telephone directory, he gradually began making his film studies pay off.
When a national soft drink company signed him to do a commercial his lucky break came. Shortly afterwards, he made an abstract film, “Gumbasia,” using animated clay.
Then he started writing a story around the figure and called it Gumby. Because as he explained, “He’s made from plain gumbo, clay muck. Also, it’s suggestive of gum in its elastic character.”

Gumbasia didn’t star Gumby, or anything else. It was a short film with morphing geometric shapes. Gumbasia caught the eye of Sam Engle at 20th Century Fox, and he had Clokey create a 15-minute film called Gumby Goes to the Moon.

Meanwhile...
The year: 1956. The place: Somewhere in New York...

NBC had decided to move Howdy Doody, which aired Monday through Friday, into what was becoming exclusively children’s time—Saturday morning; it was getting walloped in the ratings by The Mickey Mouse Club on ABC. Either producer Roger Muir, or host Buffalo Bob Smith, or both, decided it was time to freshen the show. That’s when a deal was reached with Clokey to make short Gumby adventures to drop in the programme. The revamped Howdy Doody debuted June 16, 1956. Kids liked Gumby. The Norfolk Ledger-Dispatch of July 21, 1956 had this to say:

A Personality in Clay
Gumby of Howdy Doody Show Lives in Fantasy
A small wedge shaped character named “Gumby” is fast becoming one of the favorite features of the Howdy Doody Show (Saturdays, 9 am., WVEC TV.)
Created by Arthur Clokey, Gumby is a hand-sized moppet who gets into all the trouble ordinary moppets encounter—except that he has a lot more fun. Made of clay—and highly plastic clay at that—Gumby can do any of the magical things that clay can do.
He can change into limitless forms, roll himslef [sic] into a ball, take on a [l]ong serpentine shape or divide, amoeba like, into many parts but always returning to his familiar Gumby form.
* * *
Gumby comes to life in a boy [toy] shop when the proprietor has closed up for the weekend. From a set of modeling clay, he molds himself into his wedge-shaped form and sets off on his adventures among the other toys, all of whom become life-like under his touch.
The man who really molds the stuff that Gumby’s made of is Arthur Clokey, film creator and producer, who works with the little man in a small Hollywood studio jammed with toys.
* * *
Clokey's basic idea for getting Gumby on film came when he was a student of Sivko Vorkapich at the University of Southern Califomia. Vorkapich, a leading film theorist and former director at RKO and MGM opened up new horizons for him, Clokey says.
Finally, after absorbing many new film ideas, Clokey put his ability to work at television commercials. This success led him to the creation of Gumby and the application of the stop-motion techniques for a children’s film series. Most cartoon films are made by the animation process.
Gumby lives largely in a world of fantasy in which his unique plastic structure makes him somewhat of a superman. However, unlike most children’s heroes Gumby has a built-in weakness. He can stand neither extreme cold not heat and when he disregards his Achilles Heel, he winds up in trouble.

Garber’s article revealed Clokey drove 40 miles in Hollywood to supervise production of the films by a staff of four.

When you read about the first TV spin-offs, Gumby isn’t mentioned. But he quickly graduated to his own half hour on March 16, 1957, placed in the time slot following Howdy Doody, displacing reruns of I Married Joan. Muir and Hultgren of the Doody production team oversaw the show. Variety reviewed the debut in its edition of March 20.

THE GUMBY SHOW
With Bobby Nicholson, Bob Smith
Producer: E. Roger Muir
Director: Bob Hultgren 30 Mins.; Sat. 10:30 a.m.
SWEETS CO. OF AMERICA (alt. weeks)
NBC-TV, from New York
(Moselle & Eisen)
“Gumby” is a delightful piece of stop-motion animation, and the little clay character is considered by NBC-TV as the backbone of its new Saturday ayem half-hour stanza for juves. There are, however, other facets of the program taking up as much time, which are not quite as good as the 10 or 12 minutes that were devoted on the preem to “Gumby” but were mostly sufficiently strong to hold moppet interest. Until sometime in May, Sweets Co. of America will skip-week its bankroll (other week is presently open) and then pay the weekly wad.
Gumby, a wedge-like mound of clay who resembles the gingerbread boy, was a sometimes thing on the old “Howdy Doody Show.” The whimsical star was involved in a pleasant, cleanly developed yarn during the initial outing called “The Little Lost Pony.”
Bobby Nicholson was the blustery emcee, going by the name of Scotty McKey. Nicholson brought a lot of the characterization he gave to the puppet Mr. Bluster in the latter days of “Doody.” His performance had no quality to make him other than ordinarily identifiable to the juves. Help on the first show—and on shows to come for the next couple of months —was given by Bob Smith. (Buffalo Bob did the heavy share of commercial pitching in his oily fashion). Notch above the video norm was the closing cartoon; it was nicely done art work, though not in the Gumby class. Art.

Clokey spoke to Norman Shavin of the Atlanta Journal about his story philosophy and how the films were made.

“Most of the time Gumby is made of clay about seven inches tall. However, sometimes he is 14 inches tall and made of various synthetic rubbers and plastics. To fit certain toys we have animated Gumby in the 1 ½-inch size. This required tweezers for some movements.
“The figures are cut in two sections by devices resembling cookie-cutters. Implanted between two halves is a special wire armature to give stability to the clay and plastics.
“For talking, the editor measures first the number of frames per syllable of each prerecorded word. Then the animator moves the clay lips or jaw to match the frame count. With bodily movements, on the average two exposures are made for each movement. The animator therefore must make about 12 adjustments for every second of action.
“With three camera crews, we are able to shoot an 11-minute adventure in seven days. The main problem is creative story writing talent trained for our special visual medium.
“Gumby is a curious new being, strictly functional in shape; he combines certain qualities of a super clown with genuinely human traits.
“Since he can enter into book there is no place he cannot go for adventure. Yet he is always obedient to his parents, he never willfully engages in mischief, he has a double Achilles’ heel—if he gets too hot he melts into a helpless blob; if he gets too cold he becomes rigid.
“Our aim in the Gumby adventure series is to develop a wholesome contribution to child culture. Good fantasy, we believe, is important to the creative of sound minds and spirits in our children.”

Considering how shows on Saturday mornings are rerun over and over and over, you’d expect The Gumby Show to be an evergreen at NBC. But it was cancelled. Clokey sounded bitter about it. He pointly told the disappointed Shavin:

“Besides an attack of the flu, difficulties in the NBC programming have distracted us. First, Pinky Lee was put on the show against our wishes [replacing Bobby Nicholson on June 8]; then, the only time slot available was opposite the strongest CBS show, ‘Mighty Mouse,’ Now, NBC has not been able to get a sponsor for the ‘Gumby’ show. Therefore, the show goes off the air Nov. 16. There is some talk of going into syndication. There you have it: No sponsor, no network and no show.”

Gumby did go into syndication. In March 1958, 22 episodes in colour were offered to stations by Victory Program Sales (in Canada, the CBC aired them in English and French); the company had acquired licensing rights when the show was still on NBC. Gumby and Pokey bendable figures became huge hits with kids. The old shows were so popular, new ones were made in the 1960s. Meanwhile, Clokey announced on December 2, 1958 he was planning another stop-motion show tentatively called Jamie and Ginger (Variety, Dec. 3). The former ministerial student went on to create Davey and Goliath for the Lutherans on Sunday mornings beginning in 1961.

The Gumby adventures were surreal in plot, with amateurs providing the original voices (later, actors Dal McKennon and Norma McMillan played the star). The Gumby Show was one of the first programmes to use the brand-new Capitol Hi-Q library. For example, the title cue over “Too and Loo” is PG-168J FAST MOVEMENT by Phil Green (the episode aired on July 6, 1957, according to the Oklahoma City Advertiser of the day before). L-983 ANIMATION LIGHT by Spencer Moore opens “The Eggs and Trixie” (aired May 25, 1957, as per the Winston-Salem Journal of that date). The Langlois Filmusic library surfaces in Lion Around. At 5:54, the background cue is Jack Shaindlin’s LAF-25-3 (I don't have the name), heard at the end of the Yogi Bear cartoon Baffled Bear, among others (it aired May 18, 1957, according to the two papers mentioned above).

Despite what Clokey said at the time, NBC had announced Gumby’s cancellation before Lee ever showed up. Variety of May 15, 1957 reported Pinky was booked until September 28, when the sponsorship deal for the show with Sweets was due to expire. Andy’s Gang, sponsored on alternate weeks by the 3-M company, was supposed to replace it on October 5. That didn’t happen until November 23, when 59 NBC stations cleared time for Andy Devine and Froggie.

But Andy survived a mere three weeks in the time slot. Something was swirling around the mind of producer E. Roger Muir. He was still sold on the idea of a show with a live host and cartoons, but with a difference. Instead of stop-motion, he wanted cartoons newly-made for television. So it was that Muir pushed for a deal with Screen Gems, who contracted with a company run by George Sidney, Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera for a new show. On December 15, Andy’s Gang was moved to a different time slot and in its spot was placed the series that started the Hanna-Barbera empire: Ruff and Reddy.

Mitzi McCall

Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In went into its second season with producer George Schlatter adding to the cast. Among the newcomers were a pair of nightclub comedians—Mitzi McCall and Charlie Brill, “the fun couple.” The two of them married in 1960 and stayed that way for 64 years.

Mitzi has passed away at the age of 93.

She came from Pittsburgh, where she hosted the Kiddle Castle children’s show on WDTV. She was married to director Jack Tolen, who was hired in June 1953 to be the programme director of the new NBC-TV station (KFSD-TV) in San Diego. Her husband put her on Studio Ten, the station’s weekday afternoon housewife/variety show. Her big break came soon. Leon Gutterman led off his column for the Jewish Telegraphic Agency on Nov. 19, 1954 with a story about her.

Jerry Lewis Predicts Stardom for Mitzi McCall
HOLLYWOOD—Comedian Jerry Lewis, who is feeling a lot better these days—he was ill for quite a while—has predicted to his Hollywood friends that the new discovery, Mitzi McCall, who’ll be playing opposite him in his new film, “You’re Never Too Young,” is destined for quick stardom. Jerry picked Mitzi from 200 girls interviewed by himself and Paramount representatives. He insisted: "I'd have selected this sensational personality in a minute from 5,000 girls if it had gone that far."
To those of us who knew pretty Mitzy McCall [sic] when her name was Mitzi Steiner, and saw her doing occasional acting and singing engagements over radio and in Los Angeles and in Pittsburgh, this comes as no surprise. Now that Paramount has signed Mitzi and is ready to begin grooming her for stardom, we predict she'll replace Betty Hutton as the studio in a very short time.
Mitzi’s story has a Cinderella plot to it. For months she went from agent to agent in Hollywood pleading for some kind of chance. Nobody saw anything in her. In fact, very few agents even gave her the courtesy of an interview. Jerry Lewis heard about her from director Norman Taurog. Norman took her to Jerry's house and right into Jerry’s bedroom where the young comedian was recuperating from his illness. Mitzi walked in and began impersonating Jerry Lewis for Jerry Lewis. Jerry says he almost fell out of his bed howling with laughter. Mitzi, still under terrific tension, went through her other bits of mimicry. Jerry shouted, "'That's enough! That's the kid we've been for! Let's sign her right away!”

Erskine Johnson’s column of Oct. 3, 1954, quotes Mitzi as telling Lewis when she first met him: “You must meet my husband. He’s not like me—he’s refined.” “Just like my family,” Jerry replied. “My wife is refined, too.”

Both jettisoned their partners (in Jerry’s case, we mean Dean Martin), and carried on with their careers. Mitzi became part of a double act. But, as the Los Angeles Times reported at the end of 1960, it was with Joan Shawlee. She and her husband didn’t go on stage together until December 1961 with an appearance at the hungry i in San Francisco, but not before a “good luck” call from Jerry Lewis.

How was it the two came to be on Laugh-In? They explained it to the syndicated TV Key column on Sept. 19, 1968.

They Said Program Needed Them
By HARVEY PACK
HOLLYWOOD—Mitzi McCall and Charlie Brill are a comedy team who specialize in improvisations and zany repartee.
When they saw "Laugh-In" last season on NBC, they began to salivate because it was obvious to McCall and Brill that the program desperately needed them.
In addition to sharing the stage, Mitzi and Charlie share a home, child and telephone because they are married. Charlie picked up the phone and called "Laugh-In" producer George Schlatter. As soon as he was connected he handed the phone to Mitzi because she takes care of all family appointments.
"Hello, is Mr. Schlatter there?" asked Mitzi. When she gave her name to the secretary, she was told Mr. Schlatter was not available. "Oh," she said, and Charlie could see the wheels turning. "Well, tell him McCall and Brill returned his call and we're tired of having him pester us."
After she hung up Charlie wanted an explanation. "I couldn't think of anything else to say," laughed the Pittsburgh-born pixie. "Let him figure out that message."
Thus began a series of unanswered phone messages from the Brills' "Laugh-In" office. Hardly a day went by when George Schlatter wasn't told to stop bothering the Brills because they were not interested in doing his show. It paid off. One day Charlie and Mitzi were asked come in and meet their adversary face to face. When “Laugh-In” reconvenes Charlie and Mitzi will be seen regularly for what they are, a funny married couple.
"It's a new version of something from the early days of TV called 'The Bickersons' which featured Don Ameche and Frances Langford,” explained Charlie. "They asked us to listen to an old album but we didn't want any preconceived ideas."
The Brills are always "on" even when they're alone. It's an infectious kind of banter best described as Burns and Allen, vintage 1968. "Charlie," blurted Mitzi right smack in the middle of the interview. "We're supposed to see a man about a commercial today."
"When?" asked Charlie.
"Two hours ago," moaned Mitzi looking at her husband's watch. "I'll go call him . . . excuse me. . .”
"She's kind of crazy all the time,” explained Charlie as his wife went scurrying off to a phone. "I'll bet she doesn't remember our home phone number." He asked her the number when she returned and she rattled it off immediately but she had a bit of trouble with their address.
Bankruptcy to Success
"You know we've had it rough," continued Brill, the Brooklyn born half of the team. "We went to New York to do a guest spot on the 'Tonight' show," [on Sept. 14, 1962] and when we found out we wouldn't get the $320 for several weeks, we had to answer one of those ads in which they give you a car to drive to California and pay for the gas. Otherwise we couldn't have made it back to the coast. I could have gone to my relatives in Brooklyn but how do you explain that kind of bankruptcy to people who think you're a big success because were on the 'Tonight' show?"
But things are looking up; the Brills hope the "Laugh-In" is the big break. "We're been married eight years," said Mitzi. "And outside of our daughter who arrived on our eighth anniversary this is the best thing that's ever happened to us."
They met when Charlie auditioned for the Jerry Lewis Comedy Workshop, of which Mitzi was already a member. She sat with Lewis, watched Charlie do his routines and decided right, then and there that this was it. When she confided her plans to Charlie, the two were married.
Charlie likes to be told he looks like Peter Sellers. Mitzi panics when told she reminds one of Jo Anne Worley. “I love Jo Anne,” she explains, “But she’s on ‘Laugh-In’ and I don’t want any confusion.” “Nobody will be confused,” interrupts her husband. “Everybody will know you’re the one who works with Peter Sellers.”

Laugh-In added to the cast in the second season, and subtracted as well. It would appear McCall and Brill were too busy with nightclub work to stay on the show. The following February, after 13 Laugh-Ins, they were in Hawaii as part of the Jack Jones show. “People recognize us now. Isn’t that wonderful?” they said to the Honolulu Star Advertiser.

While a handful of people may remember them with Dan and Dick, animation fans will know McCall from her work on The Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm Show and other cartoon series. Game show fans will know her from her energetic appearances with her husband on Tattletales. And entertainment history buffs will know the two of them from the night of February 9, 1964, when they followed the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show. It would have been an unenviable situation to begin with, but Sullivan changed their act at the last minute. Mitzi got in an ad-lib that, backstage, she had stepped on a beatle. They’re better known for years of telling interviewers of how big a disaster their appearance had been than the appearance itself.

Yes, the two of them did other things (the 1953 photo to the left should read “Shirley Jones”), but this little reminscence should you give you a good idea about Mitzi McCall’s sense of humour that kept her employed for quite a while.