Mannie Davis

If you wanted to work in animation in the silent era, the place to go was New York City. Well, that was until Walt Disney opened a studio in Los Angeles. New York and its environs still provided a home for animators after sound came in—Fleischer, Terrytoons (originally Terry-Moser-Coffman) and, until 1936, Van Beuren.

There were numerous commercial animation studios in New York through the ‘40s, ‘50s, ‘60s and so on. Like on the West Coast, many animators had long careers in New York, with some beginning in the silent era.

One was Mannie Davis.

Davis began animating well before cartoons had sound. But you won’t learn that from his brief obituary in the New Rochelle Star-Standard of Oct. 11, 1975.

Emanuel "Mannie" Davis, a longtime resident of New Rochelle and Larchmont and an original animator for the "Mighty Mouse' cartoon, died Thursday [Oct. 9] at New York Hospital. He was 81.
Davis worked for Terrytoons, a cartoon studio once located on Center Avenue in New Rochelle. He was associated with the original "Mighty Mouse," "Hekyl and Jekyl" [sic] and "Deputy Dawg" cartoons.
Born in Yonkers on Jan. 22, 1894, he was the son of the late Samuel and Sarah Davis. He was married to the former Florence Goodstein, from whom he later was divorced. Davis retired in 1960, when Terrytoons, Inc. was bought out by CBS Television. He lived at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel in Manhattan for several years before his death.
He was a graduate of Cooper Union Art School in New York City and served as a cartographer for the Army during World War I.
Survivors include a son, James Davis of Hastingson-Hudson; a daughter, Susan Mandelker of New York City; and one grandson.

His wedding story in the Yonkers Herald of July 23, 1929 adds a bit more:

Mr. Davis was born in this city and is a graduate of Public School 10 and of Yonkers High School. Later he attended Cooper Union College in New York City from which he was graduated in 1914. Professionally, Mr. Davis is a cartoonist and maintains a studio at 318 West 47th Street.

Let’s back up a little and peer at our newspaper clipping file and a few other sources.

Davis was born on January 23, 1894. His father Sam was a hatter who came to the U.S. from Hungary. The 1910 U.S. Census gives Manny’s occupation as “clerk, broker’s office.” The family was still using the surname Davidavitch then. It was changed by 1912 as the Standard Union of Brooklyn published Oct. 5, 1912 reports Emanuel Davis was the High Chief Skull of the Curiosity Club, a fraternal group. The Collector of Bones was “A. Davis.” This could be Manny’s younger brother Art, best-known for his directing and animating at the Warner Bros. cartoon studio.

Manny was involved in different clubs and fraternal groups over the years. In 1915, he was elected Treasurer of the Arista Society, which met at the Terrace City Young Men’s Hebrew Association. States the Yonkers Statesman, June 19, 1915:

Mr. Davis, artist, has finished a drawing on which appears the name Arista Society, beneath which are Grecian figures representing the objects of the Society, which are literature, art and science; these are supported by colonnades, with which are photographs of the eight charter members. Appropriate pen-and-ink work completes this artistic work.

He was a member of the Majestic and Gridiron Clubs, which seems to have been associated with Yonkers Lodge No. 707, Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks. Many of the active members were Jews. Every year for a number of years, they put on a minstrel show. Manny was in the chorus. Despite being amateurs, in 1919, they were booked into the local Proctor’s Theatre. They also entertained convalescent soldiers and for a servicemen’s homecoming celebration fund, according to the Statesman of March 25, 1919, and raised money for a Christmas Fund for poor children with three performances at the Warburton Theatre, reported the Statesman of March 12, 1923.

Manny was also a member of the Freemasons. He joined Dunwoodie Lodge No. 863 on South Broadway in Yonkers, receiving his three degrees on Oct. 29, Nov. 5 and Nov. 19, 1919, and was installed as Senior Steward on Dec. 1, 1920. Jews made up the membership of this lodge. He doesn’t appear to have held a higher office, but he was involved in “jollifications” of the lodge’s Fellowcraft Club, which was (or maybe still is) a social group appended to the lodge which had (or maybe still has) some kind of silly, frat-like initiation ceremony, far different than the serious mien of the symbology of Masonic degrees. (A 1925 newspaper clipping lists Cliff Friend as a member but it’s unknown if it is the composer of that name). In May 1925, he was in a contingent of 200 members from eight lodges that journeyed to Washington to meet President Calvin Coolidge and view the uncompleted George Washington Masonic Memorial. He was suspended for non-payment of dues on Dec. 31, 1932.

Enough of his fraternal life. Art was always an interest of Davis. He designed the cover for the second issue of the Courier, published by the Y.M.H.A. (Statesman, July 13, 1916).

Then the war got in the way. Davis almost stayed out of the service, but then the ground rules were changed on him. Reported the Statesman of Oct. 9, 1917:

As a result of changes made in the requirements as to weight made since they were examined for the draft among the first 300, seven men of the First Local District will be obliged to submit to another examination to ascertain if they are now fit, according to new orders, to join the National Army.

Among the seven was Mannie Davis. This time, he passed his physical and the Herald of March 26, 1918 said he was on his way to Camp Upton in six days. A report in the same newspaper on Aug. 19th said he was engaged in map drawing and had been transferred to the Officers Training School for the Engineer Corps in Washington, D.C. He was back from war service by Dec. 27, as the Herald reported the Gridiron Club was able to return to life and Davis was invited to come to the Club’s rooms when they reopened in Getty Square on New Year’s Day. The group continued with its minstrel shows and Davis drew a number of posters depicting past shows (Statesman, Apr. 26).

He was rising in the world of animation. We read in the Herald of Jan. 17, 1921:

Emanuel Davis, of 119 Ludlow street, who is an accomplished artist of the city, has been placed in charge of the studio of the Bud Fisher Film Corporation, 2555 Webster avenue, Fordham. Mr. Davis, who has been with the corporation for four years, is also chief animator of the famous Fisher cartoons. Prior to his present employment, Mr. Davis was connected for several years with New York daily newspapers.

But he wouldn’t be in charge for long. The Corporation went bankrupt that year. Bob Coar on Cartoon Research sorted through the mess of the Fisher animation operations and stated the business was transferred to the Jefferson Film Company, with more morphing within the next year. A bio by the National Cartoonists Guild says Davis worked for the Fleischer studio from 1922 to 1924, but Davis also opened his own studio in 1923, based out of his home at 105 Morris Street (Herald, June 18).

This venture evidently didn’t last long, for Variety of Nov. 11, 1925 has him at Fables Pictures, Inc., owned by Amedee Van Beuren and run by Paul Terry, and named in two patent-infringement lawsuits by Bray-Hurd Pictures. Charlie Judkins in Cartoon Research helpfully tells us that by 1926 Davis wrote, directed and animated his own Fables. Terry was bounced by Van Beuren in 1929, John Foster promoted in his place, and the studio name changed to the Van Beuren Film Corporation. Says Charlie:

Mannie Davis and Harry Bailey were chosen as Foster’s initial two directors, therefore a cartoon credited “By John Foster and Mannie Davis” is actually de-facto directed by Davis. Foster’s creative role during this time would’ve mostly been reserved to story work and working with the musical director, although he also contributed animation to a fair amount of the cartoons.

The Van Beuren cartoons have been dismissed over the years as poorly-drawn with disjointed stories. You can’t really deny it. But they got some respect when they first appeared. Billboard’s review of The Haunted Ship on May 10, 1930 contained this praise:

Waffles Kat and Buddy Kit [Don Dog] have been launched on another of their ever-interesting adventures in this comedy cartoon created by John Foster and Manny [sic] Davis. And this is by far the best of the similarly themed cartoons viewed by this writer recently. The reel is packed with a laugh in each foot. [. . .]
The cartoon is a guarantee for laughs on any program. Book it in one of yours.

Several trade papers in 1930 mentioned that Davis was among the people at Van Beuren working on a new system to synchronise animation with music. One of Davis’ other accomplishments at Van Beuren was the creation of Cubby Bear (according to a DVD of the Cubby cartoons) in 1933.

Despite whatever charms or laughs (intentional or otherwise) the Van Beuren cartoons have today, Charlie goes on to reveal:

RKO executives were displeased with Van Beuren, who put the blame on Foster. According to Mannie Davis, “Bunny” Brown, a nephew of a top RKO shareholder, was appointed business manager of the studio in 1933 and butted heads with Foster.

John Foster was fired and Davis was out the door later in the year. The Film Daily reported on August 23rd that year that Davis had moved to Terrytoons, where he settled in for a long career. The same trade paper announced on April 4, 1936:

Mannie Davis, who has been associated with Paul Terry for 15 years, has been promoted to head the story department of Terry-Toons as the latest step in the re-organization and enlargement of the staff making Educational's cartoon series.

“Re-organization” means Frank Moser was eased out by Terry.

One of the Davis-directed Terrytoons was nominated for an Oscar—All Out for ‘V’ (1942).

The Terry studio was embroiled in a strike by the Screen Cartoonists Guild in 1947. Historian Harvey Deneroff says Davis told him Terry persuaded him and other directors to cross the picket line by promising them a share of the proceeds when he sold Terrytoons. CBS bought the studio in late 1955 for almost $5,000,000. Davis was double-crossed. In 1970, he said of Terry: “He got all the money, he got all the glory, he had everybody's talent—he inherited all that for himself. He kept it, he's going to take it with him when he dies. I might sound a little bitter, but I am.”

After the sale, Davis stayed on, and he continued to work at the studio after Gene Deitch was brought in as the creative supervisor in June 1956. I haven't been able to find any comment by Deitch about Davis. Deitch got ousted not long afterward, but Davis remained at the studio through the 1960s.

Despite the reputation of the Van Beuren and Terrytoons cartoons, Davis certainly deserves some respect for a 50-year career in animation.

Woodpecker Target

The Dizzy Acrobat (1943) stars Woody Woodpecker heckling a circus cop who refuses to let him in for free. The cartoon ends with a scene where the cop crashes into a shooting gallery and some off-camera rifles whizzing bullets past him.

Woody comes into the picture to heckle-peck his head a final time in cycle animation, engaging in his familiar laugh. (Isn't the DVNR horrible?)



But Woody doesn’t bask in victory. Story men Bugs Hardaway and Milt Schaffer punish Woody by having the shooting gallery customers fire at him. Some random poses.



Emery Hawkins gets an animation credit but no director is credited. Kent Rogers goes for a Bowery Boys-type voice for Woody in this one.

A Pre-Tex Avery Gag

Tex Avery had a great gag when one character is on the phone with another in a split-screen effect, but then goes outside their part of the screen to talk directly to the other. You can see it in Thugs With Dirty Mugs, A Bear’s Tale and Tortoise Beats Hare.

Well, before Tex tried it out at Warner Bros., you can see the same gag in a Van Beuren cartoon.

In the Manny Davis-directed Nut Factory, released on August 11, 1933, an old woman is calling a Sherlock Holmes-ish Cubby Bear. Cubby’s assistant answers. The woman tries to explain what’s going on, but then found it better to talk to the cat directly.



The cartoon begins with the warped premise that someone is stealing false teeth from residents of the Old Ladies Home. Cubby and his assistant are on the case. After going in disguise, and dealing with ghosts and skeletons (which have nothing to do with the plot), they finally discover who is responsible.

Van Beuren cartoons can be odd, but this could be the oddest story they created for Cubby. I’d love to know how they came up with the idea of squirrels stealing teeth and creating a factory in a tree.

Gene Rodemich supplies the score. I wonder how much was his original music.

The Articulate Hansel

Hans Conried always had a sense of high-brow theatricality about him. But he never came across as snooty or superior. I suspect he cultivated it because he thought it was amusing.

Conried was always amusing in everything he did, at least when it came to comedy. He was an accomplished dramatic actor, too, appearing on shows including Lux Radio Theatre, The Cavalcade of America and Suspense. He recalls he turned more to comedy after the war, through he did a number of shows with Burns and Allen starting in 1943. This allowed him to put his talent for outrageous accents to use.

Television, as Conried and others noted, was limiting as you had to look like what you were playing. Still, Conried found a career there, too—acting, appearing on Pantomime Quiz and other game shows, and a late-night merchant of observations with friend Jack Paar. And, yes, because someone will say I “forgot,” there were cartoons and Fractured Flickers for Jay Ward (for a full list, consult the internet).

Here is Hans on his career to the North American Newspaper Alliance, in a column that appeared in February 1961.

The Many Sides of Hans Conried
By HAROLD HEFFERNAN
North American Newspaper Alliance
HOLLYWOOD, Feb. 4—Movie, radio and TV actor Hans Conried for many years was just a voice—doing as many as six network radio shows a day, playing Italians, Germans, Greeks, Brooklynites and Injuns. In one program he did 18 different characters in 25 minutes.
"You could get away with it then," laughs the Baltimore-born son of Viennese parents. "No makeup, no wardrobe—just a change of voice."
HANS BECAME a face—playing Nazi sub commanders, a Lebanese matchmaker (he's Lebanese again this year as Danny Thomas's Uncle Tonoose on TV), a Russian spy, a British lord.
And next he was revealed as a wit—decorating most of the top panel shows and saving many from disintegration with his rapid repartee.
"My voice and face were always much better known than my name," he frankly admits.
ALL THE Hans Conried pieces will be put together in the June Allyson Show (CBS-TV, Feb. 13), in which he plays a masterful imposter, impersonating a distinguished professor in a play titled "A Great Day for a Scoundrel." It will be one of his rare forays into straight drama.
"Oddly, this role somewhat parallels my own life," Hans observed in the home he occupies with his wife and four children overlooking a lake high in the Hollywood hills. "This character is an eloquent lecturer. Well, I may not be eloquent, but I spend half my time lecturing. "Whenever I'm afraid of overexposure on TV, I hit the road and talk before women's clubs. It's a gold mine.
"YOU KNOW how many women's clubs there are in the country?" He asked, and answered with a surprising "over 100,000. Know what many of them pay for guest lecturers? From $350 to $1000. And just for an hour's talk. "Why, if I'm properly scheduled I can knock off two a day.
"Of course, there's a drawback to everything," pointed out the 6-foot-2 former Shakespearean actor. "The chief trouble with a lecturing career is all the clubs serve chicken a la king.
“And when it comes to chicken I'm—well, I'm chicken. You can eat only so much of the stuff before you start to cackle."
CONRIED GIVES the clubs a choice of subjects for his talks. Shakespeare, music appreciation or modern philosophers.
"Know what subject they ask for most?" he asks. "That's right, all want me to talk about Hollywood. So I read up on the columns and give them a big earful."

While the Paar show brought him name-recognition which resulted in large sums of cash as an arch relater of show biz gossip to that quaint specimen of obsolete Americana, the afternoon women’s charitable club, he maintained his affection for network radio.

Here’s a 1963 story which was published in newspapers in February that year.

Conversation Leads to Stardom
BY DONALD FREEMAN
Copley News Service
HOLLYWOOD, Feb 11—Hans Conried, that richly theatrical mummer who might well have sprung to life in one of the more flamboyant Restoration cornedies, sums up his current professional state in a phrase: “I am not a star."
Then he reconsiders with a rueful smile: "Ah, but to a star I'm not a star"
A mere technicality of course. Or is it?
“Well, my name is now placed above the title of the play," said Conried. "And I am recognized in the various cities where my profession calls. I am, in a word, known. Which is a far cry from my days in radio.
"Ah, radio," Conried sighed, "the theater of the mind, a stage where the rubies were always big and flawless and where an actor was cloaked in blessed anonymity—very desirable, I might add, since audiences could not therefore take your measure for a suit of tar and feathers."
FOR MANY YEARS now the disarmingly candid Conned has enjoyed a public acceptance—notoriety he would probably call it, based on a variety of roles. Today, for instance, he might play Uncle Tonoose on the "Danny Thomas Show," then act in a dramatic special, then romp through a session of charades on "Stump the Stars."
And of course Hans is one of the talking people thrust into a special niche by the "Jack Paar Show," with its stress on airy conversation. Conried's flair for talk has, in fact, given him another public cloak—he is now a "television personality."
"For years I was just an actor, a wandering player," Conried noted, with his usual wry self-deprecation, "and then Jack Paar fortunately exploited my, uh, leaning to the verbose. Paar, you know, likes to glance about him before going into battle and see the old trustworthy faces waving the banners aloft. That is to say. he's loyal to old friends.
“Now, as a result, I've become a 'personality.' I never sought to be one but I accept it gratefully, for it has been, after all, a boon to my career—a word I usually avoid. It's nice."
NOT LONG AGO, Conried was one of the regulars who journeyed with Paar to Japan. I wondered, was he often recognized by the Japanese?
Conried shook his head. "They only know American cowboy heroes. In my day I have played western engagements but I was strictly black sombrero—a villain or a charlatan or a snake oil merchant. I was never in short a laudable page out of the great book of Americana."
Conried was momentarily thoughtful. "I started out, you know, as a classical actor. Born in Baltimore—but left as a babe of 6 weeks so they can't claim me. Claim me? They don't even want me. I've never been back and I've heard of no public outcry to have me return to place my feet in cement. . .”

Here is something featuring Hans Conried that you may not have seen. It’s a Jay Ward-esque look at model railroading, with a kazoo soundtrack, an oom-pah Germanic march, and that annoying BOINGGG! you hear in the Gene Deitch Tom and Jerrys. It opens with a little chat by Walt Disney’s most amusing animation director of the day, Ward Kimball. Conried is narrating.

Transitioning Tex

Tex Avery is known for his gags, but his career at Warner Bros. shows him interested in cinematic effects, too. You’ll see overhead layouts, montages, double exposures, and so on.

In I Wanna Be a Sailor (1937), he changes backgrounds on Petey Parrot as he is still walking.

Tex also liked overlays. Above, you can see Petey walking behind a chair on a separate cel.



Below are a few cels from Petey’s walk cycle. You can see how the living room background fades out and an outside background fades in.



Below, notice where the picket on the fence is in relation to the drainpipe compared with the frame above.



The fence, “sup” can, flower and ground are on a cel underlay that’s being moved by the cameraman (Manny Corral?) while the house in the background is stationery. It gives a feeling of depth. Avery would have to plan all this movement.

My favourite “depth” shots of Avery’s are when he starts a cartoon with a pan over some scenery, with underlays or overlays shot at different rates while a long background painting remains in place. He did this both at Warners and MGM.

The background artist wasn’t credited. It doesn’t look like Johnny Johnsen to me. I suspect Paul J. Smith got the rotating animation credit.

The Last Man

Hugh Harman’s Peace on Earth (1939) goes back and forth from extremely realistic artwork to fuzzy little cartoon animals with cartoon-y voices. Somehow it works, and Harman had every right to be proud of this cartoon.

Grandpa squirrel tells the tale of how men couldn’t stop fighting each other and, finally, the last two men on the planet shot each other to death.

Harman employs some melodramatics in showing the last man on Earth dying during a World War One-type trench war.

The short is set at Christmas time, as the little animals sing “Peace on Earth” to the melody of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”

Harman began planning this cartoon before World War Two began. Its anti-war message was still welcome at the time of its release. I imagine it wouldn’t have been once Pearl Harbor was attacked. The story (by Charles McGirl?) talks of a war between vegetarians and meat eaters. After December 7, 1941, America was involved in a war far less trivial.

The background art and effects animation are outstanding. It is shame whoever was responsible for it never got credit.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre: The Key to Efficiency

We don’t talk a lot about non-American animation on the blog, as the focus is mainly on theatrical cartoons that appeared on TV in the 1960s (and a little earlier).

However, I enjoy much of the stylised artwork you can see on animated commercials and industrial films of the ‘50s, and not just from the United States.

Here’s a nice example in a 1959 commercial film for British Petroleum called The Key to Efficiency. When you think of British animation, Halas and Batchelor come to mind. This short was made by someone else. The designs are derivative of UPA but I quite like them. Frank Cordell’s score matches the action quite well.

I have not been able to find much information about this cartoon but this blog has intelligent readers who may know something.

The Yes Man

When Jack Benny would exclaim, “Oh, floorwalker!” the audience knew exactly what was going to happen next. It always got a laugh.

The floorwalker would turn around and reply: “Yehhhhhhhhhhs?”

Frank Nelson may be best known for that one word, but he had an incredibly prolific career that would be impossible to list here, so it’s pointless to try.

In addition to radio and TV, he voiced cartoons, narrated industrial films, appeared in commercials, and had a second career as the national president of AFTRA from 1954 to 1957. He was a founder of the union and instrumental in creating its pension plan.

He told of how his acting career started at KOA in Denver playing a 30-year-old man—when he was 15. At 18, in 1929, he arrived in Hollywood and continued his radio career. He started in drama with the KNX Players but he eventually surfaced on the big comedy and comedy/variety shows from Los Angeles because, as he told interviewer Chuck Schaden, “comedy paid better.”

Nelson recalled the first appearance on the Benny show was in an insert on June 1, 1934. It was on an hour-long show from Chicago touting the Century of Progress exhibition, and he played Clark Gable. Through the 1930s into the ‘40s, Nelson would appear with Benny as an announcer/narrator, play-by-play sports imitator, a radio salesman for Yhtapmys Soothing Syrup, a medium’s henchman (and others with an evil laugh), doctors, and an array of clerks, floorwalkers (some not as masculine as others) and people Benny had to deal with who didn’t want to deal with him.

His most unusual role wasn’t on the Benny show. He played the voice of Monty Woolley’s beard on the Woolley-Al Jolson programme for Colgate on June 1, 1943.

Nelson stuck with network radio pretty much until the end. He was an railroad information counter clerk on Benny’s second-last radio show on May 15, 1955 and finished his career in May 1960 on a broadcast of The Amos ‘n’ Andy Music Hall.

We mentioned cartoons. In the late 1940s, Nelson was the narrator of the Jerky Journeys and followed up with voices for John Sutherland Productions, including the the Devil in The Devil and John Q. (1952) and as the dog narrator in Walter Lantz’s Dig That Dog (1954). He doesn’t mention these, but he talks about cartoons in Henry Mitchell’s “Dixie Dialing” column of the Memphis Commercial Appeal of April 20, 1961.

LOOK AT the little picture and tell me his name—QUICK. Oh, sure, I know you've seen him 100 times, and I know it's right on the tip of your tongue but you're like me, there are a lot of faces and even performances familiar to you but you can't quite come up with the name in a hurry.
It's Frank Nelson, and he's been with Jack Benny on his shows for 27 years now.
New Amos 'n' Andy
"But we've seen you on a lot of other shows, too," I began (on the phone yesterday) and he admitted to doing roles in The Real McCoys, I Love Lucy, Our Miss Brooks, The Life of Riley, Ann Sothern Show and Danny Thomas Show—as well as on that recent grim Audrey Meadows show (the adjective is mine, not his), in Ronald Reagan Theater. Also in the still-unreleased Weir [Wiere] Brothers series [Oh, Those Bells on CBS in 1962]. But what I asked him about was this new Amos 'n' Andy show we keep hearing about.
"Well it's by Freeman Gosden and Charles Correll (the creators of the old radio show and later on the TV series) and it's to be cartoons. The characters will be Southern but not Negroes. They've done the first five of the shows, though they won't be telecast until fall, and I do voice roles in three of them.
"I've done some of the voice work in the Flintstones series, by the way, and in the Mister Magoo series. I haven't actually seen what the cartoon characters will look like, but I do know the show was sold to a sponsor just on the strength of the story outlines and the ability of Gosden and Correll.
"In all these things I play some crazy character, but it's not associated with Frank Nelson.”
I interrupted to say that might be just as well, but he said it was a mixed blessing.
Taking No Risk
"Like most actors I work freelance. I'd love to do something heavy for a change, but these casting directors are not going to take any calculated risk. If anybody wrote in and said they saw the show and me on it and were disappointed the thing was not a comedy, the producer would tell the casting director he was out of his mind to use an offbeat character when there are so many good heavies around.
"You ask how I feel about television in general. Well, I'm a past president the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists and I happen to be pretty much a defender of TV. When you consider the amount of product that appears on television, I think it has a pretty high standard. How many good shows are on Broadway, or how many good movies are there?
“As for movies on TV, I think it's unfortunate we have to look at something made 30 years ago to get our entertainment—it's been foisted on the public and these old movies they wouldn't pay a dime to see in a theater. Until TV came along looking for a cheap way to fill in time those movies were sitting in vaults and the movie companies never dreamed of ever doing anything with them.”
Has Trademark
"But back to my character—he's usually just nameless, though Benny sometimes refers to him as “Mr. Nelson” in a show. I think most people recognize me for the way this character sayss EEYESSS (yes).
"I once walked in a producer's office and he said I certainly didn't look the way I sounded and I said thank God for that."
You'll notice Mr. Nelson in the Benny show this Sunday, repeat of the one starring Benny, Oscar Levant and Nelson—the one in which Jack Benny goes to see a psychiatrist.
For a change I thought we might pin down one of these wonderfully familiar characters on TV who don't get star billing, yet they're in our living rooms oftener than orange peels (it you have children).

As for the psychiatrist show, originally aired on Nov. 30, 1958, but rerun on April 23, 1961, the highlight of the second half was a sketch filled with Frank Nelson. William L. Doudna, the television editor of the Wisconsin State Journal was one of a number of columnists who wrote about the show on re-broadcast day.

A man who has been heckling Jack Benny for 27 years would like to do something else for a change, he told The Wisconsin State Journal in an exclusive interview.
The man is Frank Nelson, a 36-year veteran of radio and television who was on radio's first coast-to-coast broadcast.
Nelson joined Benny in 1934, he said in a telephone conversation from Beverly Hills, and has been with him ever since.
While his chief job has been heckling Jack on the air, Nelson has done it in a variety of roles. He'll give a sampling of these in an "iron-man" performance on the Benny show over CBS-WISC-TV at 8:30 tonight.
In this, Nelson will rival even King Baggott, star and director of silent films who, some 45 years ago, played every role in a courtroom drama and directed the multiple-exposure movie as well.
Among modern stars, one of the most versatile is Alec Guinness, English actor who played eight parts in "Kind Hearts and Coronets."
12 Roles, 24 Minutes
Tonight, in one-third the time of the Guinness film, Nelson will be seen in 12 roles within 24 minutes. He'll be an insolent waiter, a men's clothing salesman, a hot dog vendor, a filling station attendant, a psychiatrist's patient—and more.
Even though Nelson plays many parts, he still feels he's typed as Benny's heckler.
"I'd like to be a performer rather than a type," he said.
"I enjoyed radio more than I do television," he added. "There, even when the parts were somewhat alike, there was variety in the work, and, because the audience didn't see me, I wasn't so closely typed."
Nelson said he would like to play serious roles—almost anything, even a villainous part.
"I would like to do movies, because they give the actor more scope than television does, but I expect I'll stay in TV," he said.
Started as Announcer
He finds himself in much the same position as his close friend, Willard Waterman, a native of Madison. Waterman became so closely associated with "The Great Gildersleeve," in which he can still be seen in re-runs, that he found it difficult to get serious parts.

Nelson was born in Colorado Springs, but spent much of his boyhood in Denver before moving to Los Angeles, Calif. He started his career as a radio announcer on an early morning show.
"I had to get up so early that sometimes I actually went to sleep at the microphone," Nelson said. "One morning, the engineer went to sleep, too, and we had a great time explaining the silence to listeners."
On the West Coast, he was announcer for the National Broadcasting Company's first coast-to-coast broadcast which featured Groucho Marx.
He joined Benny in 1934 when Jack had a 5-minute insert on an NBC program, and has been with him ever since on both radio and television. In the meantime, he appeared in a few movies, but he has made his real career in the job with which he is as closely associated as Basil Rathbone with "Sherlock Holmes" and Percy Grainger with "Country Gardens."

Nelson died of cancer on Sept. 12, 1986. Is he still remembered today? Considering his occasional appearance in the Gasoline Alley comic strip, you can probably figure out how Nelson would answer that one.

The Low, Low Price of Two Million Dollars

Jay Ward made funny cartoons.

Jay Ward made other funny things, too.

If you’ve read Keith Scott’s essential book The Moose That Roared, you’ll know Ward had a promotional department that sent out ridiculous news releases, twisting current events to get attention.

It worked. Newspaper columnists with a sense of humour loved getting anything other than the same staid announcements. We have reprinted their bemused reportage in previous posts and we do so again.

This one is from the Pittsburgh Press of May 26, 1961. Ward, Scott and his release writer (Alan Burns?) made fun of the concept of a Book of the Month Club or Record of the Month Club.

'Film Series Of Month'
Bonus Selections Lampooned
By FRED REMINGTON
The economic slump has "saucered out" now as they say, and you may have $2,000,000 to spare that you didn't have back there a few months ago when things were tighter.
Well, you might want to look into the TV Film Series of the Month Club.
"Remember," states the Club's monthly bulletin, "as a member you agree to buy six Jay Ward TV series within the next 12 months at our list price. After buying six series, you are entitled to a bonus series of your choice WITHOUT CHARGE! Join now!”
Jay Ward and his partner, Bill Scott, produce the "Rocky and His Friends" cartoon series. Their trade paper advertising and periodic mailings are delightfully funny.
The TV Film Series Of The Month Club Bulletin is a sample of their humor. Like the book club bulletins, this one lists the monthly selection, plus the various available bonus selections, with capsule descriptions. For example: This month's selection—
"BEAT THE PRESS." Frank Sinatra and Anita Ekberg pound, maul, pummel, hit, scratch, claw, kick and bite four well known members of the press each week for 28-action packed minutes on a bare stage! In show No. 1 alone, Frank destroys over $6000 worth of press camera equipment! Guests: May Craig, Walter Lippman, Lawrence E. Spivak and Hedda Hopper.”
The bonus selections includes—"HUM ALONG WITH MITCH." Jay Ward offers a solution to those who want to participate but can't remember the words.
"YOU ASKED TO SEE IT." Persuasive Jay Ward has made it possible for the home viewers to see such off-beat footage as lovely screen star Audrey Hepburn eating a live chicken.”
"THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.” Thoughtlessly turned down by the Prudential Insurance Co., this fascinating re-examination of a marvelous era is now available to you. Host-narrator is Robert Welch of the John Birch Society.
"CHAMPIONSHIP MAHJONGG.” Exciting action series with world's great players competing for weekly jackpot of $100. Host Lenny Bruce provides wholesome fun to relieve between-match tension. Fun for the whole family!
"TOUCH FOOTBALL HIGHLIGHTS." From Washington D. C., Palm Beach, Fla., and Hyannis Port, Mass.
On Mothers Day weekend, Ward and Scott ran trade paper ads offering: Free—Make a long distance phone call to your mom anyplace in the USA. All you have to do is buy a Jay Ward TV series, 39 weeks. Just $2,000,000.
This novel promotional campaign is prompted by the fact that the Ward enterprises have 20 unsold cartoon series, including "Super Chicken" and "Watts Gnu?"
"We're not discouraged about our big backlog of unsold shows," Scott told the United Press International the other day. "When one sells, they'll all sell, and we'll be rich. Rich. Rich. Rich."

Watts Gnu was a puppet show that Ward couldn’t interest the networks in picking up. The concept of Super Chicken was revived a few years later as a segment of George of the Jungle. Some like it better than George.

However, Ward’s major stars, Rocky and Bullwinkle, took advantage of the rush by the networks in 1961 to have their own “Flintstones,” i.e. a successful night-time cartoon comedy. That’s even though, according to this story by Jim Scott in the Berkeley Gazette of Sept. 23, 1961, NBC didn’t want it.

TV Premiere—
There's a Lot Of Berkeley In 'Bullwinkle'
There's a lot of Berkeley in Bullwinkle, who could be hottest thing on television this fall.
From a supporting role in "Rocky and his Friends," Bullwinkle, a moose, goes in his own show—"The Bullwinkle Show," of course—at 7-7:30 p.m. Sundays on NBC's 60-city network starting Sept. 24.
The pixie behind Bullwinkle, who'll be done in color, is J. T. (Jay) Ward, a onetime Berkeley sports buff who still heads the J. T. Ward (realty) office on Domingo across the street from the Berkeley Tennis Club.
Actually, NBC doesn't care much for old Bullwinkle but big General Mills, Inc., likes him even better than Wheaties. After paying Jay an estimated $3,000,000 for Bullwinkle, it used its great weight to force NBC to show the moose at the prime time.
Already Bullwinkle's creator, Ward, has become a legend in Hollywood though he's been there only two years. A brilliant organizer with a light, Jay achieved success by hiring only top talent. This goes double for his co-producer, Bill Scott.
Besides his former associates, Rocky, a flying squirrel, spy Boris Badenov and his cohort, Natasha Fatale, Bullwinkle will have to deal this season with one Dudley Do-Right of the Mounties, a meat-head who smells of the Nelson Eddy influence. BULLWINKLE is far from being the only star in Jay's stable. He's now ready to go with several other shows, including the "Fractured Flipper" [sic] and "Hoppity Hooper."
Operating in three buildings on Sunset Ward is never too busy to talk to Berkeley friends, particularly if they're hep to Cal athletics.
On a recent visit with Jay, this writer found him and Scott relaxed over cool drinks. (“We can think up ideas better than this," said Jay). Around and about them worked 25 (temperamental) artists.
In addition, Jay maintains a unit in Mexico City, where more than 100 cartoonists ink out the bulk of his work. In his Sunset studios, artists come and go as they please. Some do the work in their homes.
Ward is one of the few Hollywood producers who realize the vital role of the writer. "The writer is more important than the animator," says Jay. "Many producers are so intrigued with the novelty of the moving drawing that they forget the prime factor—the story. Cartoons, like the comic strip, have a basic appeal. But an audience will tire if they present only action and no plot. Some cartoon makers have perfected animation to a life-like reality. But the story suffers. We try to use animation to tell a story."
WARD was first exposed to the entertainment field while attending the University of California here. As chairman of the Radio Committee, he wrote many of the scripts. After service in the Air Force during World War II, he enrolled at the Harvard Business School. He returned to Berkeley following graduation to operate the real estate business he had inherited from his father.
Jay had been in his office just one day when a runaway truck smashed through his building. Ward's leg was broken. While convalescing, he turned to writing.
It was then that Jay conceived the revolutionary idea of animated cartoons for television. At the time the seven-inch screen were offering only tired vaudeville acts.
Jay and Alex Anderson in 1948 produced "Crusader Rabbit," which ran for two years on ABC. But they lost the valuable property when the sales agency which had taken it over went bankrupt.
But the Crusader's financial romp was a gnawing challenge to young Ward to do it again. To do it right, he went to Hollywood, started hiring the best talent. Yet he made his pilot film for only $5,000. His voices included such well-known names as those of Edward Everett Horton and Charles Ruggles.
THE INTEREST evinced at once in Rocky prompted Jay to expand fast with the aid of investors from Berkeley.
But his enterprise almost came a cropper at the outset. Flying home from New York, his plane hit a rough pocket that really jolted the passengers. Ward was stricken.
Since it appeared that he was suffering a heart attack the plane made an emergency landing in Salt Lake City. Physician there couldn't determine Jay's trouble but they didn't think it was his heart. He had difficulty breathing, feared he couldn’t take his next breath. He suffered claustrophobia. But, even though working at a slower pace, he met with nothing but success in his venture into animation.
Today Jay has completely recovered. Recently he drove his own car to Berkeley, from where he left his office manager, Dave Carr, on a fishing trip to the High Sierra.
"If that boy will just stick with me—and watch his weight—he'll go far," said Bullwinkle with a wink that TV watchers have come to love.

After The Bullwinkle Show premiered, Ward and Scott spent time ridiculing NBC’s apathy toward their series, worked on getting Hoppity Hooper and Fractured Flickers on the air (the latter in syndication). Oh, and there were nutty promotional events to grab more media attention.

Here we are, 60-plus years later, still laughing along with them.

The End at The End

An unexpected gag ends an expected situation in the Columbia cartoon Under The Shedding Chestnut Tree (1942).

Petey Pelican is “the village smithy” (though no village is seen) who is picked on throughout the whole cartoon, finally by a keg of TNT which follows him as he runs away, no matter which way he turns.

We know what’s going to happen. He’s not going to be able to escape before the blacksmith shop blows up.



Here’s the end gag. Literally. The camera pans up from the destroyed shop to Petey hanging from the words THE END.



There’s some good animation in parts and some creative layouts but whoever wrote this gives me no reason to care about Petey because we know he’ll get kicked around through the whole cartoon.

Volus Jones is the credited animator with Bob “I Can Work For Less Pay Than Art Davis” Wickersham directing. Frank Tashlin is still overseeing Screen Gems at this point.

Pinto Colvig is recognisable as Petey (the character’s name comes from the Motion Picture Herald’s review of the cartoon). I can’t figure out who the smile-voiced narrator is. More importantly, neither can Keith Scott so we may never know who it is.