Cat Fight

Animators will use ghost images, multiples or airbrush strokes to indicate speed in cartoons.

In Ub Iwerks’ ComiColor short The Brementown Musicians (1935), an uncredited animator uses lines to show speed as a cat attacks one of the robbers in his home. Here are some random frames. The drawings are shot on two frames.



Only Iwerks and composer Carl Stalling receive screen credit on this short, distributed on a state’s rights basis.

Singing Weenies

Everybody sings in the Krazy Kat cartoon Weenie Roast (1931).

The cartoon opens with Krazy and his Minnie Mouse-knockoff girl-friend happily singing “By the Sea.”



Cut to the fire on the beach. It blows on some horns and dances.



The weenies over the fire unite in song.



The sun gets in some beh-beh-beh scatting.



The fire jumps over the weenie rope.



Cut to a fish plucking Minnie’s legs like a string instrument.



This is an inventive cartoon (certainly compared with the Columbia cartoons toward the end of the decade) with Ben Harrison getting the story credit and Manny Gould the sole animation credit.

Was There A TV Show He Didn't Do?

Do you remember watching Local 306 (1976) on TV? Or People Like Us (same year)? Or The Crime Club (1975)? Or The Corner Bar (1972, 73)?

They all have something in common. They all either starred, or featured in the cast, one of television’s most recognisable character actors of the decade—Eugene Roche.

I wouldn’t want to start to list even a tenth of his appearances on television or movies. He was everywhere. He did so many things, that the May 7, 1986 TV listings for where I live have him on the movie Pigs Vs. Freaks (1980) on one channel and Corey: For the People (1977) on another at the same time. I’m sure someone’s reading this post and shouting “Don’t forget about....”

Yeah, I know. You could be shouting “Don’t forget” for a long time, though likely not about his appearance on “The Theatre and the Devil” on The Catholic Hour in 1961.

He was so much in demand that, in 1963, he played three roles in the comedy The Time of the Barracudas opposite Elaine Stritch and Laurence Harvey at the Curran Theatre in San Francisco.

Given his ubiquity someone, somewhere, must have interviewed him.

First, we found a short bio after he returned to the West Coast in 1955. Wrote Anita Garrett in the Vallejo News-Chronicle on Aug. 29 that year:

NEXT TO STAR in our series of “Local Boy Makes Good” is Eugene Roche, son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Roche of 229 Hermosa street. He has the leading role in the play, "Girl on the Via Flaminia,” which opened recently at the Marine Memorial Theater in San Francisco. No doubt many Vallejoans will recall Eugene, for he spent his vacations here with his parents and worked during the Summer at Kaiser Foundation where his father is business manager.
The rest of the year he attended Emerson College in Boston, where he majored in drama. He has played leading roles in the Red Barn Playhouse, Westboro, Mass., and the Casino Theater in Newport R.I. However, the current play is his first professional lead and his first performance for the Actor’s Workshop.
The play is Alfred Hayes’ touching drama of an American love affair with an Italian girl during World War II. Eugene is cast as Robert, an American non-commissioned officer, described by R. H. Hagan, San Francisco drama critic, as "a kind of nondescript Kilroy.” Playing the opposite lead is Priscilla Pointer, a former Conover model, who takes the part of Lisa, an Italian girl. She is also son to be featured in the forthcoming "China Jones” series on television.
CRITICS RATED the acting in the production as “first rate,” and again we quote Hagan, “The acting is a magnificent example of how domestic talent can disprove the myth of Broadway superiority.” However, Hagan was not quite so enthusiastic about the play itself, which was adapted from a book, never, he says, a completely happy vehicle for the stage.
Recently Mr. and Mrs. Roche had the thrill of hearing their son interviewed over the radio. He was asked how he, a relative newcomer, was awarded the leading role. Modestly Robert told them that he was one of a number of candidates who tried out, and he had the good fortune to be chosen by the director as the type required. He was also interviewed over television, but his parents did not learn of it until later, so missed seeing him.

It turns out an entertainment columnist DID interview him. We found this feature story by Don Lechman in the April 15, 1979 edition of The Daily Breeze of Torrence, Cal. He was asked about being an ever-present but relatively unknown actor.

Roche: Acting means a lot
Eugene Roche and Ted Bessell recently made a television pilot, "Good Time Harry," for showing later this year on NBC.
Everyone remembers Bessell from "'That Girl" (Marlo Thomas), but does anyone recognize the name Eugene Roche? I bet you would know him if you saw his craggily handsome Irish face on the beefy frame. You should.
He played the Wright brothers' father in TV's recent "The Winds of Kitty Hawk" and also starred in "The Child Stealer" about a father who abducts his hown [sic] kids. Soon he will be in another television film, "Hart to Hart," with Robert Wagner.
His first motion picture was "Splendor in the Grass," and his most recent are "Foul Play," and “The Late Show."
Roche is one of a group of actors—like Jack Elam, Pat Hingle, Henry Jones, Strother Martin and Denver Pyle—who have been playing character parts for so long that they're supporting stars now. And all of them are instantly recognizable by face if not by name.
Does Roche object to such shadowy fame?
Hardly, he says. "I’ve really enjoyed it (being a character actor.) I've had a good time."
And, he indicated, he's very proud of being an ‘actor.’
"The word 'actor' is misunderstood," Roche said. "Anyone is called an actor who's said one or two lines. The immediate reponse [sic] is 'How do you like being an actor?’ It really gripes me," he laughed. "I've done about 130 plays (in addition to decades of TV and movies.) And, actually, the work is just as hard here (on TV) as it was there (on stage). I have to prepare a lot at night, and we don't have the luxury of rehearsal."
In "Good Time Harry," he plays a sports editor to Bessell's sports reporter, a guy who is terrific when he can be bailed out of trouble long enough to write a story.
It may not sound too original, but "it's organic type of comedy," Gene says, "not just one joke after another.”
Roche, who was born in New England, moved to California when he was 16 and returned to the East to attend college where he met his future wife, Marjory.
And now they have nine kids. Nine kids?
"I wouldn't have missed that" (having, those children), Roche sighed. “I would've missed everything else except those kids."
Ranging in age from 24 to 7 and having names infused with a little bit of Ireland are Jamie, a medical student in Rome; Sean and Chad, actors in Hollywood; Tara, a student at Loyola Marymount in Los and Megan, Brogan, Liam, Eamon and Caitlin, still living at home—Los Angeles or the Catskills in New York, depending on their dad's assignment.
And Gene Roche still has time to act?

Nine kids? No wonder he didn’t star in Eight is Enough (Insert laugh track here. That one needs help).

Roche’s steady and lengthy body of work made him an appropriate person for an obituary in the popular press. Here is part of the Los Angeles Times’ memorial, published Aug. 2, 2004.

Eugene Roche, 75, Character Actor in Films, Television
By Myrna Oliver
Times Staff Writer
Eugene Roche, a character actor remembered for roles such as the offbeat detective Luther Gillis in “Magnum, P.I.,” Squeaky Clean of Ajax commercials and an ill-fated prisoner of war in the classic 1972 film “Slaughterhouse Five” has died. He was 75.
Roche died Wednesday in an Encino hospital after suffering two heart attacks. He lived in Sherman Oaks.
With a face more familiar than his name, Roche worked steadily for more than four decades. He began his career as a teenager, voicing characters on radio in his native Boston, served in the Army, then studied drama at Emerson College. Devoting himself to acting, he honed his talents in small theaters in San Francisco.
Roche made his Broadway debut in “Blood, Sweat and Stanley Poole” in 1961. He continued to play stage roles until late in his life, appearing at the Geffen Playhouse in “Merton at the Movies: in 1999 and at San Francisco’s Theater on the Square in Carroll O’Connor’s “A Certain Labor Day” in 1997.
Adept at both comedy and drama, Roche made his film debut in 1961, playing a private detective in “Slendor in the Grass.” In the film “Slaughterhouse Five,” based on the wartime fantasy novel of Kurt Vonnegut, Roche portrayed the likable POW Edgar Derby, who reverently plucked an intact porcelain figurine from the ruins of Dresden only to be executed by his German captors for looting.
But the puckish Roche gained his widest fame on television. He became a household face in the 1970s when as Squeaky Clean, he made kitchens sparkle in commercials for Ajax household cleaner.
Through the 1970s he became Archie Bunker’s neighborhood nemesis on “All in the Family,” and the sly attorney Ronald Mallu on the sitcom “Soap.” In the 1980s he portrayed curmudgeonly Luther Gillis, trying to teach upstart Tom Selleck the old- school sleuthing ropes in `Magnum, P.I.,” the lovable landlord Bill Parker on “Webster,” and newspaper editor Harry Burns in “Perfect Strangers.”
Roche often earned critical claim for running parts in sitcoms fated for quick demise. He played Julie Andrews’ on-screen television producer in the short-lived “Julie” in 1992, and in 1990 portrayed Lenny Clarke’s father in “Lenny.” In 1987 he took on the role of the retired founder of a public relations firm considering hiring George Segal in “Take Five.”
“Roche is marvelous as the tough-minded businessman who makes no bones about wanting to hire someone to run the firm without letting his son know he isn’t in charge,” The Times’ Lee Margulies wrote, while predicting the series would fail. “Unfortunately, Roche isn’t a regular.”

When he showed up on Soap, I was quite happy. He was the only actor on the show I recognised and thought “He’s finally getting a regular role.”

As you can see, it’s a wonder he had the time for it.

The Ubiquitous Anvil

Anvils. What would cartoons be without them?

There’s one in Screwy Truant (1945), directed by noted anvil enthusiast Tex Avery. First, Screwy Squirrel pounds Meathead’s nose on one.



The anvil returns after a nose gag as Screwy (off-screen) has developed super squirrel strength and tosses it through the air at Meathead. Here’s one frame of the take.



Meathead runs away. In one drawing (on one frame) the anvil actually goes past his head. The action is so fast, you don’t notice. I’ve seen this before in impact drawings in other cartoons.



And now the gag.



Preston Blair, Ed Love and Ray Abrams are the credited animators.

Has anyone reading this seen a real anvil? I don’t mean in a museum. It isn’t like there are blacksmith shops or livery stables around today.

Milking a Gag

Something to watch for in Friz Freleng cartoons, besides the comedy and timing, are the subtle expressions and hand/finger movements.

See how the kitten is handled in this part of Kit For Kat (1948). Elmer Fudd can only keep one animal and has to choose between Sylvester and the kitten. Sylvester tries all kinds of things to make Fudd angry at the kitten, but they fall apart. In one segment, Sylvester breaks a milk bottle in the kitchen, then waits for Fudd to come in and see what happened.



Instead of being angry, sympathetic Fudd feels the kitten is hungry and considerately gives the little thing some milk. The innocent kitten leaps for joy. See the expressions.



Cut to the frustrated Sylvester, who realises he screwed up.



Fudd also offers the kitten “some delicious cheese, and hamburger, and pickled herring, and smoked barracuda.” The absurd dialogue must be from Mike Maltese.

Paul Julian provides some wonderful backgrounds, with highlights and shadows. Note the bare light bulb in Elmer's kitchen.

This is one of those cartoons that opens with a garbage can/cafeteria scene, with a cat using a garbage can lid as a tray.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre: Once Upon a Time

“The business of America is business,” newly-elected president Calvin Coolidge is quoted as saying about 100 years ago. Certainly business believed that. And likely still does.

After the Second World War, the great paranoia of America was Communism. To business, Communism meant the government ran everything, not business. Government interference was bad for business. This sentiment found its way into propaganda cartoons produced by John Suthlerland Productions for Harding College. Its message slips through the Industry On Parade TV series given free to stations by the Manufacturers Association of America.

We’ve found another example in a mainly animated short produced as a “public service” for the U.S. Chamber of Commerce in 1965 by the Calvin Company. Industry On Parade spoke of “wise government spending.” This one is more pointed, criticising government agencies for the “problems” they’ve caused businesses in the U.S. It favours “essential regulation,” no doubt meaning regulation that favoured increased company profits.

The Sutherland cartoons featured interesting designs and solid animation. This one is a little lacklustre and stiff, I’m afraid. Its main attraction is the work of Mel Blanc, who is the only person who gets a screen credit. The King’s voice has more than a slight resemblance to Cosmo Spacely, including, in jowly manner, the immortal words “You’re fired!”.

There’s no indication who was responsible for the animation. A background drawing, appropriate for a cartoon, shows one of the businesses is named “Acme Firewood.” The building next to it is “Jones Wood.” It’s probably just a coincidence, but it would be neat if this “illustrated radio” film was honouring you-know-who.

Let's Talk to Rochester

If you listen to any of the Jack Benny radio broadcasts from American military bases, you’ll hear huge cheers for Eddie Anderson.

Soldiers, sailors, marines and air force personnel likely could identify with Rochester. He basically did what he felt like in the Benny home and even got in some one-liners making fun of his boss. They must have dreamed about doing that to their superior officers.

Some people couldn’t see why the character was popular. They couldn’t look past the fact that Rochester was a “servant” and the writers tossed in some black stereotype behaviour. The latter was mainly during the early years. By the time the Benny television show came on the air in 1950, the Benny character treated Rochester about the same as he did his non-black cast (eg. Benny asked Mary Livingstone to answer the phone or the door).

One story in a black newspaper in the eastern U.S. included a column roasting the Rochester character; the paper put a disclaimer on the article, saying it was the opinion of the writer.

Anderson briefly addressed the issue in a feature story in The North West Enterprise, April 26, 1944. The four-page weekly was published by a black fraternal group in Seattle.

BACK STAGE WITH ‘ROCHESTER’
By John L. (Jack) Blount
It isn’t every celebrity that wants to be interviewed and “pawed over”—just to help someone else get his (the celebrity’s) name in print again—and I don’t blame them at all! I rather sympathize with them. Isn’t it enough to spend days and months (and maybe more) in preparation for the benefit or entertainment, or pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Public—without having to dig up and rehash all the facts in the case—plus the history of your great-grandfather’s life. If you have done your job well, and they like it, the public will know all about it!
And so I don’t blame Eddie (Rochester) Anderson when, Sunday night in Vancouver, B. C., he was reluctant to talk about himself. He seemed to prefer to talk about Jack Benny, whom (the company) all love as a big good natured brother.
But I had gone all the way from Bremerton, Wash., U. S. A., up to Vancouver, B. C. (I just learned about that “U. S. A.” part after getting outside for about 48 hours)—with a kind of triple purpose in view: To see “Rochester” on some private business, and then to see Rochester on some public business, and finally, just to see Rochester! You see, I had promised some friends on two big Seattle papers that I would bring back a “story” if they would get me a pass to the big Jack Benny broadcast in Vancouver—and so-o-o-o
And now about Rochester. He is really a “humdinger” (if you can understand my language)—and he has got idea of his own-with dignity, poise and self-confidence.
Sunday afternoon out at Hastings Park I buttonholed him, backstage, sometime near the end of the big broadcast, after he had “gone on” and set nearly 10,000 people on their left ears gasping for breath. Of course I buttonholed him by appointment, and so, after meeting most of the company and Jack Benny himself, I got down to business, the private talk part, and Rochester obligingly promised to do what I asked in the way of helping me with a certain project. Then, to complete the visit, I switched the talk to the other thing: Rochester’s start and climax to fame. I wanted to know when and how he did it and hinted that I wanted to write something about it.
He “smelled a mouse” right away and faltered.

“Look here,” he warned me. “A lot of newspaper people have got the wrong idea about Negro actors and players.” (He referred to the Negro press).
“And although they are not hurting me at all, I hate to see them gum up the works for young actors coming on by trying to be “all holy” and [“]exacting in their criticisms.”
He went on to say that the pleasure-seeking and theatre-going public liked the portrayals and it liked fun and laughter, and if it takes a dice game to give them this then a dice game must be included in the “picture.” He further hinted at an “overdose of race-consciousness[”] on the part of the critics. He finally put me off on the matter of how and when he had started.
“Come on backstage again tonight,” he told me, “when we will entertain the service man and their families.”
You can bet I was there—although I had to drag Rochester back into a dark corner to escape autograph fans—boys and girls, men and women, everybody.
He said that he had been with Jack Benny since Easter seven years ago. He had been given an audition for the selection of a character of “Train Porter.” He had scored and then applied himself in earnest to the role, and all future roles—all of which has resulted in Eddie (Rochester) Anderson attaining something close to “stellar attraction” in the Jack Benny broadcasts and pictures.
I wasn’t satisfied with the brevity of the interview—but he promised more when the “Jack Benny Company and Rochester” come to the Puget Sound Navy Yard soon. Of course, I wanted to ask some of the other members of the company about Rochester to get another angle, but I did not want the answer favorable “for my benefit.”
However—they didn’t wait. They had seen me backstage talking with him and some of them came to me while Rochester was “out front.” He was praised, and I was told that he “tops” with every last one of them!
Also—none of them failed to mention how “lovely” Jack Benny is.
And about the Jack Benny broadcast and show in Vancouver: well, that’s not my subject—but it couldn’t be beat anywhere—anytime!

Regretfully, it doesn’t appear the columnist wrote a follow-up story.

Benny knew listeners loved Rochester. You don’t hear a whole scene at the start of the radio show handed solely to Mary Livingstone, Dennis Day or Phil Harris. But you do with Rochester, in later years in dialogue with fine actor Roy Glenn. Eddie Anderson was trusted by Jack to deliver laughs. And he did, time and time again.

Art Davis and His Real People

Art Davis gets a thumbs-up from me as a director at Warner Bros.

What Makes Daffy Duck? is a great cartoon by any standard; I really enjoy his unit’s boisterous, lippy version of Daffy. Porky Pig is great fun in his hands, especially in Bye Bye Bluebeard. He gave us the Goofy Gophers (vs. the Shakespearean dog). And though his one Bugs Bunny short, Bowery Bugs, has a different feel to it than Bugs cartoons from the other units, it’s a nice little comedy.

I won’t go into a long dissertation about Davis’ directorial work at Warners. Others have done it. And for the ultimate profile of Davis, Devon Baxter has accomplished that in this Cartoon Research piece. This post is prompted solely because I stumbled across a clipping about him in the Saturday, Feb. 8, 1930 edition of the Yonkers Herald. I’m not sure if it’s been re-printed anywhere, so I’ll do it here. I don’t know how old the picture of Davis is; I don’t think he had a lot of hair in 1930.

LOCAL CARTOONIST OFF FOR HOLLYWOOD
Arthur Davis, a native this city, who formerly resided at 155 Hawthorne Avenue, is leaving on Monday [Feb. 10] For Hollywood, Calif., where he will continue drawing animated cartoons for the screen. His present series of "Krazy Kat” cartoon are well-known to movie, audiences throughout the country. Previously Mr. Davis has animated "Mutt and Jeff,” "Out of the Inkwell," and “Song Cartoons," which have been extremely popular.
Mr. Davis left his studies at the Yonkers High School to enter the animated cartoon profession, and during his nine years' affiliation with the industry has been very successful. A brother, Emanuel Davis, is also an animated cartoonist, now with "Aesop's Fables" studio. Mr. Davis is the youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. S. Davis, of 199 Hawthorne Avenue, this city. In 1928 he married Miss Ray Kessler at New York City, and they have one child, Herbert. His wife and child will accompany him to the coast where they will make their home.

Art was a 15-year-old honours student at Yonkers High School when this art of his was published in the Herald on January 28, 1921. He won $10 for this drawing and $4 for another drawing he submitted. Davis was musically inclined, with the Herald mentioning that year he was a first violinist in the school's orchestra. Besides finding his way into the animation business, Davis was the official artist of the Chester Club of the Young Men’s Hebrew Association, drawing caricatures of members in the group’s programmes as well as “novelty placards.” He showed one of his animated cartoons at a 1928 club banquet.

We'll have more about his animation career below, but let us mention Davis was let go at the former Mintz studio when management found Bob Wickersham would direct for less than what Art was being paid. After a few months, he took a job animating at Warners in 1942 for $70 a week; he had been making between $300 and $400 at Columbia.

The Warner Club News of June 1945 mentioned Davis had taken over the Clampett unit, with George Hill and Hubie Karp writing for him, and their first cartoon was Bacall to Arms; it had been started by Clampett. Karp never got screen credit at Warners. The January 1946 Club News reveals Bill Scott and Lloyd Turner were now writing for Davis.

Davis was the last director hired so when Ed Selzer decided to go to three units from four, Davis’ unit was disbanded. Davis was picked up as an animator by Friz Freleng; the two had worked together in New York. He stayed until 1960 when he was asked to be let out of his contract because he felt the studio broke a promise to let him head a commercial unit. Warren Foster got him in at Hanna-Barbera, where he animated some cartoons, including El Kabong, Jr., then became a story director. His last cartoon short made directly for Warner Bros. was Quackodile Tears (1962), on a freelance basis for Friz.

When animation historians sprouted up with revolutionary research that’s now considered basic by cartoon fans who weren’t alive back then, the public press picked up on it, and pretty soon the papers had feature interviews with Chuck Jones, Friz Freleng and Bob Clampett. But what of poor Art Davis, the director of the most dispensable unit at Warner Bros.?
It turns out one paper did interview him. The Salt Lake Tribune’s Sunday entertainment section on July 3, 1994 published this article.

Golden animator director gave character to cartoons
“What brings you here laughing boy?” Daffy Duck to murderous wolf in 1948 "What Makes Daffy Duck"
By Martin Renzhofer
THE SALT LAKE TRIBUNE
At the time, Art Davis wasn't aware he was doing anything more than smacking America's funny bone.
"The object was to make them funny," the 90-year-old animator said. "So we devised all sorts of ways to do that."
What Davis did was contribute to the golden age of cartoons. Although not as well known as his contemporaries—Bob McKimson, Friz Freleng, Tex Avery or Chuck Jones—Davis was an important cog in the Warner Bros. Looney Tunes machine.
From 1935 to 1955, directors and animators crafted hundreds of cartoons starring Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Elmer Fudd and others.
The animators fleshed out their characters, giving them lasting influence around the world.
Bugs Bunny is "any wise guy from Brooklyn, while Daffy is a take-charge guy who doesn't know what's going on—and it doesn't matter. Characters were taken from certain types of people," Davis said. "Personalities had a lot to do with it. Despite the screwball things we had them do, they were real people."
Through the years, Davis directed 22 Warner cartoon shorts and as an animator contributed to many others, including the 1958 Academy Award-winner for short subject, "Knighty Knight Bugs."
Davis' "real people" still inhabit Saturday-morning and weekday-afternoon TV.
While he was creating the characters, it never dawned on Davis that he would be part of animation history. "You don't think of those things when you're doing it,” Davis said in his Salt Lake home. “It was like any other job—you have to pay the rent.
“I always liked the idea of being an animator. It’s been my life, ever since I was a kid."
Davis doesn't exaggerate. He began his career in the silent-film era and concluded it in glorious sound and color with the Pink Panther.
Born in Yonkers, N.Y., Davis, at 16, began his career as an errand boy for the Jefferson Film Corp. His older brother Mannie already worked for Jefferson, producer of "Mutt & Jeff" silent shorts.
Davis quickly became involved in the creative side of production, erasing pencil lines from inked drawings. Artists drew the cartoon and inkers added tone and shade.
"In those days," Davis said, "no celluloid [large clear plastic frames used in filmmaking] was used. We photographed the drawings."
Once he moved to the Fleischer studio in the early 1920s, Davis' career as an animator officially began. Max and Dave Fleischer were responsible for "Koko the Clown'' and "Out of the Inkwell," including the sing-along silent cartoon shorts with a bouncing ball.
Davis was the bouncing ball.
"The bouncing ball was a round thumbtack on a black stick," he said. "These were shot live action. I used to bounce the ball and keep time, singing with a ukulele."
During these early days, Davis met another struggling animator—Walt Disney. He has few regrets in life, but one is not accepting Disney's offer of work.
“Three times he asked me," said Davis. "But I was under contract to someone else. They would always give me more money. Most of us didn't have the foresight that Disney had."
As a 22-year-old, Davis was doing well, earning $85 a week.
"My friends thought I was a rich man, considering that married men were making $20 a week, which was good money in those days."
In 1928, Davis joined the Charles Mintz Studio, and for the next decade was a one-man crew: story man, layout artist, animator and director.
Davis’ style began to emerge. The pace of his cartoons became fast and furious with characters that barely stay in control.
"Some of those old cartoons look primitive," Davis said. "We sent through periods where we struggled to make them better."
He concentrated on improving the depth of field in cartoons, striving for a three-dimensional look rather than having characters merely move from left to right on the screen.
Davis became a perfectionist.
"I like to wind things up correctly so that everything has a conclusion," he said. "Everything has a reason. It concludes itself in a logical manner so it doesn't leave the audience hanging."
During his time with Mintz, Davis ran into a bit of trouble with the Hays Office, an organization created in the 1930s to keep film entertainment "wholesome."
A Davis creation, a cartoon titled "Babes at Sea," had naked babies.
"King Neptune frolicks with naked babies swimming in schools," said Davis. "The Hays Office said we had to put pants on them. How do you do that?"
So Davis erased the belly buttons and drew a line around their waists for pants.
Davis also created "The Early Bird and the Worm," "The Foolish Bunny," "Mr Elephant Goes to Town" and "The Way of All Pests."
Cutbacks eventually cost Davis his job at Mintz, which was purchased by Columbia in the mid-1930s.
So Davis tried his hand at business. He purchased a liquor store with his brother Phil, who died six months later.
"I didn't do well," he said. "I was never a businessman and I didn't like what I got into after I got into it. I took a beating when I sold it. You had to be a crook to be a good businessman, and I just couldn't take it."
Davis went to work as an animator for Warner Bros. in 1941. It wasn't a completely happy experience. Davis was hired to replace top Warner Bros. animator Bob Clampett as a unit director and never got over the feeling of being the odd man out.
But Davis was part of the world’s largest cartoon industry, which included four directors and hundreds of layout artists and animators. The characters they created still have a lasting effect. Among Davis titles are "Bowery Bugs," "The Goofy Gophers," “Mexican Joyride," “Quackodile Tears" featuring Daffy Duck and "Odor of the Day" featuring Pepe le Pew.
Eventually, his unit was disbanded, but he continued as an animator until leaving in the early 1950s. The production company was thinking of expanding into television and reactivating Davis' crew.
But the plan fell through.
“They were against TV," Davis said. "They were afraid of it. They didn't know how it was going to work out."
Ironically, it is television that has kept two generations of cartoon-watchers laughing. And Davis continued contributing to that by working with DePatie-Freleng and then Hanna-Barbera, giving the same attention to Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound and the Pink Panther that he gave Bugs Daffy and Porky.
These days, Davis admires the new computer-generated animation. He loves the new Disney animated films and can't stand the thought of MTV's "Beavis and Butt-head."
“It's a monstrosity," he said, adding that some of today's TV cartoonists are setting back the art form of animation instead of taking it forward.
"We were trying to improve animation. We made a career of our own desires to make entertainment.”

Davis died at the age of 94.

While he wasn’t one of Warners’ major directors, he did his best work there. It’s a shame financial constraints killed his unit as we can only guess how much more he had to offer.