But Where Are the Dinner Guests?

Tom is sleeping and minding his own business for the first 4½ minutes of The Little Orphan (1949 general release). Then, thanks to Jerry and Nibbles mooching a feast put out on a long table by the maid, an orange is swatted out of the baby mouse’s body and flies into Tom.



This brings on a very swift cat vs mice war. For about the next 2½ minutes, Tom is bashed in the face with a champagne cork, stabbed in the butt with a fork launched from a tempting dish of delicious Jell-O (note the dry-brush), smacked with a spoon, swallows a boomeranged decorative bulrush he set on fire and splooshed in the face with a crème pie (we will guess it is banana).




Nibbles then fires a candle which lands on the cat’s tail. The flames go up his body and turn him into a black kid, complete with curls on his head. Someone will have to explain why this is funny. I don’t get it. (At least Scott Bradley didn’t put “Old Black Joe” in the background soundtrack like he would have in a Tex Avery cartoon).



Finally, a champagne bottle is popped open. The force of the bubbles turns it into a rocket that bams into Tom’s head, sending him flying.



There’s a crash. It’s off-camera. We see Jerry and Nibbles reacting to what we can’t see, as the camera shakes. It’s just like in a Pixie and Dixie cartoon of a decade later.



Mr. Jinks, er, Tom, is no longer a stereotype as he waves a flag of surrender.



The final scene shows the three giving Grace like good little Christians.



Someone at MGM smelled Oscar-bait with this film. It was shoved into a theatre to make it eligible for an award for 1948. The Miami Herald reported on December 8th.

HOLLYWOOD, Cal.—Preview reaction to M-G-M’s Tom and Jerry cartoon, “The Little Orphan,” resulted in the birth of a new star—Nibbles, baby mouse with ravenous appetite. Result—Nibbles series with William Hanna and Joseph Barbera co-directing. Fred Quimby producing.

Indeed, the cartoon did win the Academy Award for Best Short Subject (Cartoon). (1948 was the year Warners released What Makes Daffy Duck?, Back Alley Oproar and Bugs Bunny Rides Again. Not one was nominated. Boo).

You can see Quimby accepting the award below. I like how they didn’t waste time at the Oscars back then with endless speeches. Besides, what would Quimby say? “I really had nothing to do with making this cartoon. I’m just a mid-level executive.”

There Was a Crooked Hand

Of Fox and Hounds (1940) stars George the fox (behaving like a slick version of Bugs Bunny) and Willoughby the dog in the kind of cartoon Tex Avery never would have made a few years later.

At MGM, Tex loaded up his cartoons with gags and fired them at the audience at a brisk pace. This cartoon for Warners has a slow (but steady) pace and sets up the final, satisfying gag after two similar situations.

There are a number of scenes where George’s fingers are twisted or crooked.



Here are some examples from a creeping cycle. Whether this is Bob McKimson's work, I don't know, but even the in-betweens are solid.



“Draft No. 6102” gets the animation credit (looking at the credit rotation, my guess is it’s Rod Scribner), with the story by “Draft No. 1312” (Rich Hogan, maybe?). Johnny Johnsen provides some lovely scenery.

The short isn’t full of the crazed humour you’d expect in an Avery cartoon. It’s more of a situational involving two characters, with a third interfering only when necessary.

I’ve Heard That Joke Before

When comedians on radio got tired of jokes, they made jokes about jokes.

Fred Allen, Henry Morgan, even Boston’s Bob and Ray, pointed out radio was obsessed with making fun of Brooklyn or the La Brea Tar Pits. Morgan and the wonderful Arnold Stang had a routine, where Stang urged Morgan to jump on the overused joke bandwagon, saying Fred Allen had one about a pen that writes under water and, by procrastinating, Morgan didn’t have “one damp joke.” Morgan responded with a lovely pun that he did have a joke about a typewriter that wrote under wood.

Syndicated columnist John Crosby went further, making jokes about comedians making jokes about jokes in his missive of Friday, February 14, 1947.

RADIO IN REVIEW
By JOHN CROSBY
The All-American Joke
Peter Lind Hayes, who is developing into a very good comedian indeed, fell to complaining the other day about jokes. There were, he claimed, almost as many jokes about the Governors of Georgia as there are Governors of Georgia. Mr. Hayes, who is one of the brighter luminaries on the Dinah Shore show (C. B. S. 9:30 p. m., E. S. T. Wednesdays), explained that the Georgia Governors had moved to Number Four on the Hit Parade of jokes.
"What's Number One?” inquired Miss Shore.
"The most popular joke of the year was Kilroy was here. Number Two was the fountain pen that writes under water. In the third slot is a new entry which came up very fast."
"Bet I can guess—‘Open the Door, Richard.’ "
"Right," said Mr. Hayes some-what grimly. "Number Four was, of course, the Governors of Georgia. Numbers Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine and Ten were Artie Shaw's marriages. Eleven was President Truman's piano. Number Twelve was the joke about Leo Durocher saving up for a Larainey Day."
"Pete, what about Los Angeles pedestrians?" asked Miss Shore.
"Coming up—got the perfect number for them. Number Thirteen. Yes, Number Thirteen is Los Angeles pedestrians. Number Fourteen is Los Angeles smog, and Number Fifteen is Los Angeles."
Mr. Hayes then offered his version of the All-American Joke, a fool-proof number guaranteed to contain all the guaranteed laugh ingredients. Here it is:
"The other day the Governors of Georgia and the pedestrians of Los Angeles picked up a fountain pen that writes under water and wrote a letter to President Truman asking him to play the piano at Artie Shaw's and Leo Durocher's weddings and signed it Kilroy was here."
• • •
Well, it was a brave try, Mr. Hayes, but I feel vaguely dissatisfied with that All-American Joke. Some of the most brilliant running backs and four or five linesmen of indubitable All-American excellence have been omitted. No All-American team would be complete without a mention of Frank Sinatra. John L. Lewis, the Brooklyn Dodgers, portal-to-portal pay, Jack Benny's stinginess, Esther Williams's bathing suits, James C. Petrillo, Senator Claghorn, Don Wilson's waist line, Bob Hope's yo yo and the housing shortage.
Mr. Hayes's list calls attention to the flagrant favoritism the comedians pay to Los Angeles. President Truman's piano, Kilroy, "Open the Door, Richard," and the fountain pen that writes under water belong to the nation; the Governors of Georgia are the personal property of that state, but all the rest of the jokes have a distinctly local connotation. Hollywood and Vine is virtually the only street intersection in the world that ever gets mentioned on the radio. Hollywood's weather is more widely and unfavorably advertised than the weather any place else and Tommy Manville simply can't compete any longer with the Hollywood marriage and divorce mill. Nobody ever tells any regional jokes about the East, the Mid-West or—apart from the Georgia Governors and Senator Claghorn—the South, Chicago, which in my youth was the most prolific joke factory in the world, is hardly ever mentioned.
Also, it seems to me the joke-smiths have missed a couple of topics entirely. I don't hear all the jokes that are told on the air, Heaven forbid, so maybe I missed a few. Has any one told a joke about Staten Island's threat to secede from New York City, Admiral Byrd's expedition to Antarctica or Toots Shor's expedition to the White House? Any one who can't fashion a joke out of Toots Thor in the White House, to parephrase Mr. Shor, ain't tryin'.

Let’s look at the rest of Crosby’s columns for the week. As a side note, these columns had been banked as Crosby was on his honeymoon in Los Angeles when they were published.

Monday, February 10: Politicians and would-be politicians show up on Information Please. I’ll take Oscar Levant, thank you.
Tuesday, February 11: Jack Benny and Your Hit Parade were sponsored by Lucky Strike, which used a tobacco chant in its opening and closing commercials. Crosby delves into the cigarette spiel. We posted that column several years ago.
Wednesday, February 12: The BBC tries an intellectual programme, drama, poetry, plays and such.
Thursday, February 13: an odds-and-ends column, including Johnny Olson’s audience participation show and newsman Bob Trout on slang.

You can click on the stories to enlarge the copy. Cartoons are by Alan Ferber and Bob Moore of the Daily News in Los Angeles.

I Like Him. He's Silly

You can count on Screwy Squirrel for silly gags and the MGM cartoon studio’s artists for solid animation and dry-brush work to enhance the action.

In Happy-Go-Nutty (1944), Screwy lives up to his name by hacksawing bars on an open door at a mental hospital (for squirrels only), then climbing over a metal gate that’s already open to escape.



Here are three consecutive frames. The dry-brush makes the action look fast and smooth, instead of popping pose-to-pose.



“You know, those guys in there think I’m crazy,” Screwy tells us. He then gives us an indignant look.



Screwy then whips out the quintessential proof of insanity—a Napoleon hat. “And I am, too!” We get a demonstration (as if we need convincing)



These are consecutive frames. How about that in-between?



More dry-brush. This is part of a cycle of head pounding.



Finally Screwy rides off on an imaginary bicycle.



Director Tex Avery reprises the “fool the dog to jump over a fence” gag from Of Fox and Hounds (Warners, 1940). There’s an old vaudeville gag involving a phone call, an inexplicable second squirrel gag, a cave/darkness routine, a break from a chase for a Coo-Coo Cola and, as you might expect from Avery, a title card gag.

Heck Allen gets a story credit and Avery’s wartime crew of Preston Blair, Ray Abrams and Ed Love are the credited animators.

Screwy appeared in only five cartoons. I don’t know what else Avery might have done with him, but there are funny scenes in all of them.

What Happens When a Tree Eats Spinach

Spinach doesn’t just work on “hu-mings” in the Popeye cartoons. In Strong to the Finich (1934), the sailor demonstrates to the sick-of-eating-spinachk kids living at Olive Oyl’s Health Farm for Children that it gives vitaliky to just about anything.

In one scene, Popeye pours it into a hole of an anaemic-looking tree.



Being a Fleischer cartoon, the tree sprouts a mouth (and teeth) and begins chewing.



The tree begins to grow.



It sprouts leaves. And since “In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree” is playing in the background, apples begin to grow.



Wait a minute! The apples become pears.



The pears become pineapples.



Finally, some of the pears become bananas.



It’s on to the next gag.

This is one of the cartoons with a low-voiced Olive played by Bonnie Poe. Red Pepper Sam (aka William Costello) is Popeye.



Much like an Our Gang comedy, there’s a black kid. This is likely meant to be inclusive; all the children are equal in this. He doesn’t talk like Amos ‘n’ Andy, and he’s not the subject of ridicule (like being slow or afraid of ghosts).

Seymour Kneitel was the de facto director of the short, with Doc Crandall also getting an animation credit.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre: Decorating Unlimited

Readers of this blog likely know who this is.



Of course, that’s Howard McNear, known to fans of 1960s television as Floyd the Barber.

And you likely know this is.



Yes, it’s Kate Bradley. And Cousin Pearl. And Blanche Morton. And Betty Rubble.

You may be wondering if they worked together on The Andy Griffith Show. Or Petticoat Junction. No, these shots are from neither series. They’re from an industrial short made for McCall’s Magazine and the Bell System by Jerry Fairbanks Productions called Decorating Unlimited. It began appearing in front of audiences of community groups in late 1961.

Manya Starr and Hazel Arnett came up with a cute fantasy story where Mr. McCall (McNear) appears everywhere and magically transforms Jean and Fred’s suburban home. Benaderet plays a neighbour who is delighted with the decoration job.

The co-star of this industrial film is Sally Bliss, who also went by the screen name of Carla Balenda because her real name was “too cute” and the studio didn’t like it (as she told International News Service columnist Maralyn Marsh in October 1950).

We won’t get into the rest of the cast with one exception:



The youngest son is played by Louis Nanasi. You probably won’t recognise the name. The red-headed boy soon changed it and has been well-known to families for 60 years. He was the original voice of Charlie Brown in the Peanuts TV specials. His new name was Peter Robbins.

Edward Paul receives a credit under “Music Supervision.” It seems in the 1960s he wasn’t composing scores for Fairbanks’ films but, instead, dug out cues from the Capitol Hi-Q library. The one over the opening scene was composed by Bill Loose, Jack Cookerly and Emil Cadkin but is not in my collection. Several other pieces of music you will remember from The Quick Draw McGraw Show.

I’m not an Andy Griffith Show fan, but McNear is one of those actors who makes me smile, and he does with his usual unique delivery in this short.

A Day With the Family

It’s no surprise Dennis Day came across in real life as a family man.

He had ten children.

Day appeared from obscurity to take over the vocalist’s job on the Jack Benny show in 1939. Nobody on the show was certain Day—that was the name they gave him—would make it. To hedge their bet, they brought on veteran actress Verna Felton to play Dennis’ overbearing mother. Felton was funny, but Benny and his people agreed Day was capable of handling the role without assistance, so Felton’s mother was reduced to occasional appearances.

As it turned out, Day developed a pretty good flair for comedy, both in the context of his quiet and silly character, and when it came to a small group of imitations, which the writers started putting in the show. He did funny versions of Jimmy Durante, the Mad Russian (Bert Gordon as Eddie Cantor’s foil) and Ronald Colman, and some over-the-top accents that were perfect for Benny’s sketches.

All this resulted in Colgate-Peet-Palmolive signing Day for his own radio series. When television came around, he starred in two short-lived series in the 1950s, but started raking in the big money when he headlined in Las Vegas.

Despite this, he seems to have been removed from the glittery world of show business celebrities, no doubt helped by publicity along those lines.

Here’s an example. TV Guide published this two-page profile on June 4, 1954.

Four Days Make One Weak
Dennis’ Children Keep Life Hectic For ‘TV Bachelor’
Brentwood, Cal., is one of those money-sprinkled suburbs whose shopping center is archly referred to as “the village”; whose winding roads bear names like Tigertail and Saltair and whose few remaining unsold lots are priced higher than a kite in an updraft. Being a sub-suburb of suburban Beverly Hills, it is loaded with movie and TV stars on a high turnover basis.
Now, in the film capital, a star’s home is rarely associated with the star himself. It is almost invariably "the old Gloria Swanson place” or “the former Rin Tin Tin manse,” regardless of who might be footing the current utilities bill.
An exception to this rule-of-thumb is the Dennis Day farmhouse, located north of Sunset Boulevard in the outer reaches of Brentwood. Day and his wife, the former Peggy Almquist, bought the place from its builder, who was not a star, thereby assuring its future pedigree as “the old Dennis Day place.”
The pedigree is going to have to wait awhile, however, as Dennis and his wife have remodeled it with a careful Irish eye on future expansion. They are the early settler type and, with four young McNultys all under the age of six, they are both early and settled.
Right here it should be explained that in this woodsy little corner of Brentwood the Days are known as “the McNultys,” Dennis’ real name being Eugene Patrick McNulty. The children, Margaret, 1; Michael, 3; Dennis, Jr., 4, and Patrick, 5, are known strictly as “the McNulty children.”
It’s the end of a perfect Day, you might say, when the kids rush out to meet their particular Mr. McNulty. That workaday character, name of Dennis, disappears, and in his place there’s only “Daddy.”
With four Indians of Irish descent on the premises, Dennis generally finds himself up by 7:00 A.M. whether he likes it or not. Breakfast is a pleasant sort of bedlam—the kind only parents can ever become accustomed to. After that, it’s up to Peggy McNulty to get her husband piled into his car, the two older boys piled off to nursery school and the other kids piled out from underfoot.
On weekdays Dennis generally gets home fairly late, just in time to try to calm the children with a quick story before their bedtime. He and Peggy like a quiet dinner together and spend most evenings watching television. Sunday, however, is family day. Dennis leads the entire brood off to church, after which the four Indians rule the roost and keep their father stepping.
An Irish Stew
A favorite Sunday occupation is a family barbecue, with Dennis himself presiding at the open pit built into the den’s huge brick fireplace. In warmer weather the backyard pool becomes the general meeting place, fairly crawling with McNultys. Dennis has four brothers and a sister, plus enough nieces and nephews to stock a small school. The canyon neighborhood, in fact, is rapidly becoming known as McNulty Gulch.
Aside from the occasional fishing sorties, which are strictly a mother-and-father deal, the McNultys are as tightly knit a family group as Hollywood boasts, and keep pretty much to themselves in their canyon hideout. Dennis keeps a firm hand on the children’s reins, and labors mightily to keep their natural, exuberant tendencies within limits.
Hams Must Age, You Know
Patrick, the oldest boy, already has some of his excess energy siphoned off into show business, having appeared on one of his father’s TV films in the role of Dennis himself as a young boy. Whether or not the others will follow suit is something Dennis is not yet prepared to say.
“They’re too young at the moment,” he says matter-of-factly, “to do anything but get in and out of trouble. But they’re Irish and they’re mine, and it’s quite possible there is a small amount of latent ham in them.”

I’ve always liked Kenny Baker as a vocalist more than Day, though I’m not excited about the kinds of songs both were required to perform, but Day was more talented of the two. While Andy Williams and Perry Como were bigger on television, Al Martino and Johnny Mathis were bigger on the record charts, and rock would be embraced by young people, Day still attracted fans who wanted to see the singer they heard for years on a radio show with a comedian they loved.

Beany Gets His Start

Something was missing in a blurb on the radio/TV page of the Los Angeles Daily News of Monday, March 7, 1949. It reported KTLA would now sign on at 5:30 p.m., meaning expanded programming. While the story mentioned a new, five-day-a-week children’s show tabbed The Western, it did not mention another new programme dropped into 6:30 slot which had far more impact.

It was Time For Beany.

(The internet says the show debuted the week before. If it did, and it’s possible, no newspaper had it in their listings).

Likely anyone reading this blog will know this was a puppet show that was the brainchild of former Warner Bros. cartoon director Bob Clampett. Eventually, KTLA’s owner syndicated it across the U.S. It gave birth to Clampett’s Beany and Cecil cartoon show on ABC in 1962.

The Daily News loved the show, and two columns were devoted to it. The first was published June 17, 1949.

It's happy TV sailin' with Beany and the Leakin' Lena
By WALT TALIAFERRO
(Radio and Television Editor)
Are you adequately protected with accident and hospitalization insurance? Do you carry complete coverage in a life insurance policy?
If not, don't dare venture near the path leading to the nearest television receiver at 6:30 p. m.—Monday through Friday — or you're liable to be trampled under foot by a swarm of children, as they give full throat to their rallying cry, "Hey, Ma! It's Time for Beany!"
And that's not all. Close on their heels comes Dad—big brother—or Granny. For, one and all, they're "Beany" fans.
Just four short months ago "Beany" was a private in Hollywood's Army of OOWA's (Out of Work Actors.)
If the rest of this story reads line fantasy—why not? That's what "Beany" is.
He invested his last nickel in a phone call that has earned him a seven-year contract with Paramount Television Productions, where he can be seen on KTLA as the star of Bob Clampett's "Time for Beany" program.
Klaus Landsberg, West Coast director of Paramount Television, received a phone call from a little boy who related the plans he and his uncle had to visit all parts of the globe in a quest for knowledge and adventure. His uncle, "Capt. Horatio Huffenpuff" had a ship, "The Leakin' Lena," but needed funds to finance the expedition.
So impressed was Landsberg with the boy's earnestness and fortitude, that he arranged not only to finance the expedition, but also send along one of KTLA's crack camera crews to telecast a nightly on-the-spot coverage of the cruise.
Thus was born the start of an outdoor adventure that has no equal on television.
The "Leakin' Lena's" crew is comprised of "Beany;" “Capt. Huffenpuff;” "Hopalong Wong," the lovable Chinese cook; "Klowny," the mailman; "Hunny Bear," the mischievous mascot; "Mr. Crow," faithful lookout in the Crow's nest; and "Dishonest John," a dastardly stowaway.
Setting sail, accompanied by KTLA camera experts Gordon Minter, Jimmy Morris and Lloyd Bockaus, the good ship left port, and headed to open sea. Two days out they ran into a most unusual development. As the clouds rumbled, and the sea tossed their ship, who should appear from the churning waters, but a huge sea serpent.
Beany was terrified, but the monster simply laid his head on the deck, hiccupped, and introduced himself.
"Cecil's the name. Cecil, the Sea Sick Sea Serpent, that is." Again Cecil groaned.
"What's the matter, honey boy?" Beany asked, and kissed him square on the top of the head.
Ever since that day Beany and "Cecil, the Sea Sick Sea Serpent" have been the best of buddies.
Whenever Beany is threatened with danger, Cecil is always on hand to lend a hand.
And if the somewhat stupid Cecil doesn't have the answer for one of their problems, he visits Smarty Pants the Frog—otherwise known as "The Brain." He knows.
Already, the expedition has sailed down the L. A. River, and has overcome the many varied dangers of Echo Park, Sleepy Lagoon, Salty Lake, Boo Hoo Bay, Lake Ha Ho (the land of the Laughing Grass), through the Straigths [sic] of Jacket, and Turban Bay, past the Land of Milk and Honey, and is now at the LaBrea Tar Pits.
Here they hope to capture the Freep, the last living species of prehistoric origin.
Interest is running so high in what the Freep will look like that thousands of children have sent in drawings of what he may look like, as well as offers to help in his capture.
One local housewife, last week, phoned the station to say her husband didn't want to leave town on his vacation till he was sure he wouldn't miss the unveiling of the Freep.
The tremendous influx mail proves beyond a doubt that an equal number of adults and children follow the program.
The parents especially approve the inspiring way in which Beany instructs his followers in ways to do things, proper conduct, good fellowship and proper moral outlook.
"Time for Beany" is a Bob Clampett Packing Production, and stars Daws Butler and Stan Freberg, considered in the trade as the top men in their field. Butler, for years a top vaudeville and radio performer, is achieving TV fame for his expert portrayal of "Beany" and other lead characters.
Clampett, originator of the "Beany", program was formerly a director of "Bugs Bunny" cartoons at Warner Bros. Studio.
Bill Oberlin, also at Warners with Clampett, designs and constructs the sets, among the best on any Television show. Charlie Shows, former Fairbanks writer, is story head. Maurice Levy Jr., longtime associate of Clampett's, is the show's personal business representative.

Here’s the Daily News column from Dec. 27, 1949. You’ll notice it says Beany had turned one year old. It would seem the character appeared on KTLA in late 1948, though I can find no mention of him or Bob Clampett in any 1948 newspaper.

Hey, just a darn minute! Beany boy has a message
By CECIL, THE SEASICK SEA SERPENT
As told to Paul Price
Now, just a darn minute there . . . just a darn minute!
My little pal Beany boy wants me to give you a message. Beany boy and I are taking off soon on a trip to the moon and he's a mighty busy lad working with Captain Huffenpuff gettin' that ol' rocket in shape for the flight. Otherwise he'd write you himself.
Well, now, my little pal's television program, 'Time for Beany" has just celebrated its first anniversary on KTLA . . . and we want to thank you for all those swell letters.
The nice things so many people said about my little pal . . . and, well, gosh, even me, is enough to make an old sea serpent blush. And, doggone it, I'll bet that's somethin' you haven't seen very often.
Beany and me really appreciate those letters . . . especially the ones from you youngsters . . . but we'd like you to know that there are a few other people who have had something to do with it.
Our pal, Bob Clampett—he's a man—is really responsible for any success that Beany boy, Captain Huffenpuff, Dishonest John, Clownie and the rest of us have had.
That ol' Bob, he's always thinking of things for us to do, new places to go and strange lands to explore. Why if it hadn't been for him we never would have found that darn ol' Freep or the love bomb.
He does a pretty good job for a man.
Then there's Daws Butler—and do you know that sometimes when he's talking I can't tell whether it's him or Beany Boy. He sounds as much like my little pal as I sound like Stan Freberg.
Maybe it's because they're both actor fellows.
Well, Beany and I and the gang have been to some mighty strange places, and it was all arranged by Bill Oberlin. Ol' Bill says he's in charge of settings and effects, but all I know is he's the fellow that's fixing it for us to go to the moon.
You know, it's quite a job putting on "Time for Beany" five days a week, because we go a lot of places and some mighty strange adventures happen to us. Guess none of it would be possible without Charlie Shows, our writer and producer. He's a man, too.
Beany boy and I just want you to know that we're mighty happy so many people and organizations have voted us their favorite television show.
Even Dorothy Sutherland of the California Congress of Parents and Teachers says we have one of the best programs for children.
I have to be swimming along now because it's almost "Time for Beany." See you over KTLA at 6:30. I'm giving Paul Price back his column.
Your old friend, Cecil, the sea-sick sea serpent.
• • •
Thank you Cecil, and we sure hope you don't get sick traveling in that rocket to the moon.

After Beany went national, the show caught the attention of TV Guide. This article was published in the Chicago edition, Aug. 21, 1954.

Beany from the Back
...AND WHAT MAKES SEASICK CECIL TICK
“Kukla, Fran & Ollie,” explains Bob Clampett, creator of Time for Beany and an admirer of K,F&O’s Burr Tillstrom, “is a puppet show—pure and simple—which uses television merely as a means of reaching its audience. Beany, on the other hand, uses television. It could be done only on TV. We use connected stages, not just one; painted backdrops whose illusion would be lost in a theater, camera tricks. Anyone who tries to compare the two shows has rocks in his head.”
An award-winning favorite in Los Angeles, Time for Beany is now building a national following. Clampett, a youngish-looking man in his late thirties was a movie cartoon director and artist. He brought the show to TV almost six years ago.
Beany backstage, to the untrained eye, is a helter-skelter of organized confusion. Between stage and backdrops is four-by-six-foot space in which actors doing the voices of the characters must maneuver without barking shins or jamming an elbow into someone’s mouth. Scripts are attached to a roller device, turned when a puppet manipulator gets a hand free.
“For the first five years,” Clampett says, “two boys, Stan Freberg and Dawes Butler [sic], did practically all the voices. When they finally decided to leave the show, a lot of potential sponsors were scared off because they thought these two boys could never be replaced. But we’d had other actors doing the voices, on the air, for weeks before Dawes and Stan publicly announced they were leaving. Nobody noticed the difference.” Beany now has a staff of six voice artists—each of whom can, and does, voice every character on the show at one time or another.
Clampett’s forte, like Tillstrom’s, is satire, which he tries to keep on a broad enough level to snare both the children and their elders. (A loyal viewer: Lionel Barrymore.) Clampett’s more recent satirical characters have included Jack Webbfoot; the Connecticut Sea Serpent in King Arthur’s Court (a take-off on Godfrey); the Double Feature Creature with the Wide Scream and the Scareophonic Sound; Marilyn Mongrel; Tearalong the Dotted Lion; Louie the Lone Shark; Dizzy Lou the Kangeroo (Desilu), Moon Mad Tiger, a mustachioed character voiced by Jerry Colonna, another fan. And there’s always Cecil the Seasick Sea Serpent.

There are a few episodes of the puppet show circulating on the internet. Clampett managed to pull off a season of the cartoon series. Unfortunately, his Snowball Productions never managed to get other ventures off the ground, and the Beany and Cecil cartoons remain on wish lists of fans who would like to see a restored, full set.