Playing With Candy

Personally, I prefer Waffles the cat when he was paired with Don Dog in Van Beuren cartoons in the earliest of the 1930s. But it appears he was handed a girl friend named Countess Cat by the studio and the two of them appeared together in various Aesop’s Fables.

Film Daily reported on December 10, 1932 that Margie Hines had been inked to an exclusive cartoon voice contract by Van Beuren to play Countess, but had already appeared in Venice Vamp and Pickaninny Blues.

The two co-starred in The Wild Goose Chase and then returned in Silvery Moon (both released in 1932). I like the first cartoon better because there were more odd characters. There are a few in Silvery Moon as well. The backgrounds are pretty imaginative, where things in Candyland are made out of candy canes, including musical instruments played by the two cats. But the plot is the same old music-for-the-sake-of-music which was becoming passe. Still, it’s Gene Rodemich music and his scores for the studio generally set a nice mood.

It’s a shame the animation at the top of the film is cut off.

Music expert Chris Buchman has pointed out this sequence isn’t exactly original. He says it is almost verbatim (other than the characters) what is found in the 1931 Van Beuren cartoon Toy Time, including the music in the background, “The Siamese Patrol March” by Paul Lincke.

The animation in this cartoon doesn’t match the gold standard of Disney at the same period. Variety wasn’t impressed. From the December 27, 1932 edition:

AESOP FABLE
‘Silvery Moon’ (Cartoon)
6 Mins.
Mayfair, N.Y.
Radio [R-K-O]
Up until the minute before they enter the moon this cartoon promises to present something original. After that it’s the regular routine of dancing by pen creatures between wallowings in ice cream and candy.
Very, very young children, preferably graduate infants, will enjoy this short if for no other reason that its suggestion of a visit to the corner candy store right after the show.

My thanks to Devon Baxter for supplying the screen grabs.

John Harlan Speaking

If you yelled out John Harlan’s name at me, I’d probably respond “Password.” Harlan did an awful lot more than that show during his announcing career. Where I heard him first, I don’t know. It might have been on “Queen For a Day.” He actually appeared on camera on that show, as you can see in the frame grab to the right.

Trying to track down biographical information on people who really weren’t huge stars can be challenging. There are bits here and bits there. In peering through old issues of Variety, Broadcasting, the SAG/AFTRA site and various contemporary newspapers, I can tell you Harlan spent his teen years in Fresno. He was in the Boy Scouts, an officer of his DeMolay Chapter and in a high school drama club which put on a play that aired on KMJ in 1942. Harlan ended up at the other local station (KARM) the following year, and returned after his wartime military service. He was hired at KGO in San Francisco in 1949, and then wound up in May 1950 at KECA in Los Angeles which was just about to put a TV station on the air.

The most interesting aspect of Harlan’s career may have been his jump into all-news television in 1973. KMEX-TV decided to broadcast 8½ hours of news during the day; Harlan was one of the anchors. This early effort at a news channel died after three months and three weeks. A lack of money and being primarily a Spanish-language station on UHF killed it. Harlan told the Los Angeles Times that people would come up to him and say “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish” (the news was in English). He also remarked one of the 110,000 people who tuned in was Flip Wilson.

Harlan was the announcer on Wilson’s variety show. Announcers don’t tend to get much publicity but someone—connected with the Wilson show, it seems—sent out one of those publicity/biography news releases and a number of newspapers put it in their weekend TV section. I first spotted it in a paper published January 15, 1972.

He Makes Career Of Being' Unseen'
"The George Wyle Orchestra Plays 'Flip Flop", a lighting effect spelling out F-L-I-P comes to life, and a voice seemingly from nowhere announces: "The Flip Wilson Show".
The voice belongs to announcer John Harlan.
Harlan confides, not at all remorseful, "Last week I had 17 words." Seventeen or so words on several shows over a period of years have made quite a career for him.
In 1963, Harlan joined Ralph Andrews Productions and has worked in television production and announcing ever since. His announcing credits include such series as "You Don't Say", "It Takes Two", "The Judy Garland Show", "The Brighter Day" and countless specials starring such personalities as Carol Channing, Julie Andrews, Jimmy Durante and Danny Thomas.
He is the announcer of the annual Grammy Awards presentations; president of Professional Arts, Inc., a company that produces educational films; and announcer for "Password" and the syndicated series "It's Your Bet" in addition to "The Flip Wilson Show".
On Flip's show, however, announcing is only one facet of Harlan's job.
"The most interesting part is chatting with the studio audience," he says. "I do what is commonly called the 'warm-ups' just before the show and between scenes.
"The real stars in the audience," according to Harlan, "are the children. I ask them to come on stage and tell their favorite jokes. One little boy came up, told his joke, and I continued to talk to him. Finally, he looked up in despair and asked, 'Would it be all right if I sat down, my knees are trembling?'"
Waiting in the wings to be introduced, Flip Wilson, amused at the boy, remarked, "Heck, my knees are the ones that are trembling. That kid's trying to steal my show!"

Harlan was more than a guy introducing Tom Kennedy. He was also involved in the production end of game shows, including “Get the Picture,” “It Takes Two” and a rebooted version of “Name That Tune” where he was involved in picking contestants. Here’s a neat story from the San Francisco Examiner of April 2, 1976 about how the show’s staff hit the road to find people to appear.

It's all uphill
Going straight to the top with TV's 'Name That Tune
By Art Harris
Grinning Glenn Ford and frowning Broderick Crawford have gone silent on the screen in room 247 of the Americana Motel, where "Name That Tune" contestant coordinator Judi Barlowe has turned down the volume on the morning ' matinee to answer the phone. Another local hopeful has seen the ad ("You can win $100,000 on TV, etc."), started fantasizing about microwave ovens, freezers, shiny new cars and dialed up for an audition.
The motel switchboard has been flashing every five seconds—1,000 calls a day—since "Name That Tune" came recruiting this week in San Francisco. The callers all remember last year when 78 personable, Ipana-smiling middle Americans got to harvest the Money Tree; 9 lucky winners on the 39 taped shows walked off with $15,000 in cash and prizes.
And this year three people will defeat all comers, win the honor of sitting in a special glass booth, get zapped by a blinding light (so they can't see the audience), quiet flapping butterflies, name the tune and waltz off with the one hundred thousand big ones to be doled out in annual $10,000 increments "Look," says Miss Barlowe, a slinky, 27-year-old ex-airline stewardess who landed her TV job after winning $19,285 on "Name That Tune" two years ago, "I can't promise that you'll make it. I didn't think I'd make it. I was just coming down to meet a friend who was going to try out, and when he didn't show up, the TV-people said, 'Why don't you give it a try. Two weeks later, I was $20,000 richer. If I can do it, anyone can do it."
Not really. Even if you make the first cut by passing the "Name That Tune" cassette test (10 second fragments from 20 songs), make the second cut a month later when producer Ray Horl, in person, comes to town to check you out and finally get an invitation to Hollywood next summer (at your own expense), you have no guarantee of getting on the air.
"We won't ever guarantee they'll be a contestant," says smooth, baritone-voiced John Harlan, the show's announcer and chief recruiter. "But it's rare that once we ask them to come to L.A., we won't use them." It has happened, though.
"We had a guy once who had the interview and then he got to L.A. and said, 'Where's my dressing room, where's my makeup man?' He had stars in his eyes. So we, said, 'You're not the same person. We can't use you.'"
Harlan explains all this to one room of hopefuls—Hillsborough housewives, a policewoman, an unemployed waterbed salesman, bartenders, insurance men, mechanics, nurses, computer programmers, lawyers—but no one really hears him. They have stars in their eyes. In three days of testing, Harlan has interviewed some 600 people out of 4,000 Californians expected to try out in the next month. They watch the show every Friday night at home and overflow with confidence. They always guess the tunes; their children have urged them to come down and bring honor to the family name. They know they have what it takes.
But they don't. Harlan knows his boss, Ralph Edwards, who owns the syndicated game show, only wants certain types. "He wants 'up' kinds of nice people," confides Harlan. "He wants 78 good, happy people with vim, vigor and vitality who like to have fun." He doesn't want any dullards.
"They may be the greatest namer of tunes in the world." says Harlan, "but if they're dull, the show is dull." And that means people in TV land change the channel, the ratings drop, the ad billings fall, Ralph Edwards gets fuming mad and John Harlan may be pounding the pavement. "He hires us to find good contestants."
Bill Silva, a 35-year-old singing bartender from Oakland, is just right. He appears articulate and manly and' he has an "interesting" job. Silva and his customers at the Bella Napoli bar play "Name That Tune" every afternoon with the jukebox. It has prepared him well—he makes the first cut. This will make a neat story on the air. Harlan writes it down.
But Silva, whose stage presence has been smoothed from past TV work, is a ringer. Last year, he won $25,000 on High Rollers as the undefeated five-day champ. To boot, he walked away with two trips to Mexico, a houseboat vacation at Lake Shasta, ovens, freezers, a $2,000 diamond-studded gold watch and a gleaming $300 ring made from a $5 gold piece."
A friend pointed out the ad for "Name That Tune" tryouts, says Silva, and he hoofed it on down. "I've always been a ham."
Two past game show appearances would have disqualified Silva. NBC rules.
"Please don't say, 'Oh, God,' or anything that might distract people," instructs Harlan as the room throbs with silent anticipation. The test is about to begin. He asks everyone to fold over their paper "so eyes don't wander" and reminds them of the $100,000 at the end of the rainbow.
"OMIGOD!" says San Carlo housewife Susan Kauk, taking a deep breath. "Do you nave a tranquilizer?" No one does.
The test begins.
A mix of pop, rock and big band tunes wafts over the tape. Everybody chews on pencils, scratches heads, pulls hair. And then it is over. The room is in shock. "I thought I knew music," grumbles a minister. Everyone looks down and shakes their heads as Harlan retires to Miss Barlowe's room to grade papers.
"First the good news," says Harlan, returning with a big smile on his face. "A lot of you don't have to worry about traveling all the way to L.A." He announces the first cut. Susan Kauk is one of the six lucky ones. She can't believe it.
"My adrenalin started racing and my palms were sweating," she says, recalling her panic during the test. "I could remember the words, but not the titles." Harlan reminds everyone "not to wait by your phones. If we don't call you within four weeks, you probably won't hear from us."
Mrs. Kauk sighs. "I've gone through three cans of deodorant."

Harlan announced on American Gladiators and the last of the Bob Hope specials in the mid-‘90s but when he retired, I’m not certain. He was on the local AFTRA board in the mid-2000s and active with the Pacific Pioneer Broadcasters. He died in 2017.

The Car (End) of Tomorrow

In 1947, Studebaker came out with a car with a back end that looked like a front end.



Tex Avery and writers Rich Hogan and Roy Williams parodied it in Car of Tomorrow. Narrator Gil Warren points out it’s difficult to tell if some new models are coming or going. Even arrows aren’t very helpful in determining the front end and the back end.



Then the wheels turn. We now learn which is the front end.



The “step down” Hudson gets parodied later in the cartoon.

Mike Lah, Walt Clinton and Grant Simmons are the animators.

How To Get From One Pose To Another

Here’s one way to do it. These are shot on twos.



Guess who directed this cartoon? Here’s a hint.



Actually, the character layouts were by Abe Levitow, but he never drew anything like this when he left the Chuck Jones unit for UPA.

This is from the 1957 industrial Drafty, Isn’t It?

Reviewing the Revue

A cast of 75! A budget of $250,000! Singing! Dancing! Talking!

That’s the hype that accompanied MGM’s “The Hollywood Revue of 1929.”

And among the “more stars than there are in heaven” caught in this was Jack Benny.

It was 1928 and sound was beginning its eventual strangling of silent films. Sound meant studios were looking for stars who could talk (and sing and dance). Where else to find them but the vaudeville stage?

That’s where Jack Benny could be found. He was signed to a deal by Warners and made a short called “Bright Moments.” Then came 1929 and Metro wanted a huge blockbuster where it could toss in all its big players. Thus Jack Benny was hired in April and acted as co-master of ceremonies in a filmed musical extravaganza called “Hollywood Revue of 1929.”

It opened at Grauman’s Chinese on June 20, 1929. Civic groups in Hollywood were so confident “the fame of the film capital will be broadcast to the four corners of the earth” because of the movie, store owners along Hollywood Boulevard were asked by the local business group to decorate their buildings and the city was asked to allow them to put up lit stars on lamp posts along the street (Los Angeles Times, June 3, 1929).

Women’s Wear Daily (yes, it had an entertainment section) of July 29, 1929 proclaimed: “ ‘The Hollywood Revue’ is the most spectacular sound picture that has yet been produced. In Los Angeles, where it is now being shown at Grauman’s, it has been running for many weeks to packed houses and is accounted the biggest success of any of the ‘talkies’ yet presented.”

The New York Times of August 11, 1929 bleated information from Metro’s press releases: “more than 1,500 persons took part in the designing, recording and photographing ... more than 3,000,000 feet of film were used to secure the final eleven reels ... More than ninety songs were written by the twenty-three song writers at the studio, of which the twenty best were selected ... chorus of 125 girls ... 1,500 applicants ... ten microphones frequently were at use at the same time ... Laurel and Hardy blew out a number of light valves in the sound apparatus ... Buster Keaton introduces a new dance he calls a Sausage Dance.” When the movie opened on August 14th in New York, Exhibitors Herald World screeched: “Beautiful show girls in costume sing and dance atop the worlds greatest theatre electric sign at the Astor, N. Y. Broadway has never seen so amazing a spectacle. Police hold back thousands along the Great White Way as crowds watch Hollywood Revue promotion stunt.”

Anyway, that gives you enough of a sense of hype.

But what of Jack Benny?

Benny was a co-emcee in the movie with Conrad Nagel (who sang). Nagel represented the Hollywood film community, Benny the Broadway show folk. Jack talked about his first major experience in the movies with the Los Angeles Times in an interview published on July 7, 1929. His quotes come across as a lot stiffer than anything I’ve read elsewhere; one wonders if they are actually the writer’s paraphrases. It’s interesting that despite being featured in one of the biggest talkies to that time, movies were not where Jack made his fame.

The last quote is very revealing and turned out to be quite true. Jack never abandoned live appearances, whether in vaudeville, his radio audience, his television show (filmed in front of a live audience off-and-on) and his concert stage appearances, not to mention benefits and roasts. He continued to work in front of living, breathing people until cancer stopped him.

LAUGH BUSINESS SERIOUS
Jack Benny, Gentleman of Comics, Explains How Brands of Merriment Differ
BY PHILIP K. SCHEUER
Nice Nellie would refer to him as John Benjamin, but he is and always will be Jack Benny to most of us. He is in, as those who know their vaudeville win testify, the business of laughs—and a mighty serious one it is. A gentleman to his fingertips, Jack Benny must remain ever a stranger to the bawdy, the vulgar, the slapstick; he and a custard pie must never meet.
But what, interrupts the dissenter fresh from an evening at "The Hollywood Revue" in Grauman's Chinese Theater, where Jack Benny officiates as a shadow master of ceremonies—what about the so-delectable birthday cake which descends with such unerring aim on the impeccable brow of this same Mr. Benny? A custard pie by any other name is still as squidgy!
The answer is significant. Pie or cake, the basis of the situation, or "gag," lies not in the generous and indiscriminate spread of dough and icing over the dignified features of Mr. Benny, but in the fact that the gentleman rises superior to the calamity and, with no loss of aplomb or change of expression, proceeds to announce the next act on the program! In the industry, they would call it “topping a gag;” the discerning person will recognize it as the mark of the true comic artist.

“The moviegoer,” Mr. Benny comments, “is still an unguessable quantity. We who have learned to gauge our abilities to amuse by the known quantity of response in an audience are finding it difficult to a standard for laughter in the talkies. I have noted the reactions a professional gathering, at the premiere of ‘The Hollywood Revue,’ and of the typical crowd of merrymakers that attends a midnight show. They are not alike, but still they bear more resemblance to one another than they do to what is known as an ‘average audience.’
“Yet it is this average audience which we must play. My best lines, I am frank to admit, are lost in the revue. This is not our fault the audience’s; it is just a lesson by which we must profit. The first-nighters caught more of the wisecracks because they were trained experience to listen quickly for them—and not, as you may suppose, because they were necessarily more critical or harder to please. “Let us go into it further: The average spectator, I am told, breaks into hearty laughter when William Haines expresses his delight at meeting me by ripping off my collar. Instead of diminishing, the laughter increases as Haines tears the buttons from my coat one by one. This is a reaction natural in the man educated to the pantomime the films; but by giving way to he completely misses the accompanying dialogue, which is the basis the humor we intend to convey. To wit:
“Haines, as he attacks each button, prefaces the act with the remark, ‘I saw you in Detroit,’ ‘I saw you in Chicago,’ and so on—with button for each city. He leaves me, you will remember, one button; and this, after a suitable pause, I jerk loose myself, with the dry comment, ‘You forgot Minneapolis.’
“Timing, it is probable, would have extracted the full humor from the situation so that everyone could appreciate it: and still it might not have. That is something that only experience will teach; the movie goer may be as unwilling to accept the formula of the theater a year from now as he is today. Who knows?”
HOUSEWIVES MISSED
The greatest loss to a “personality comedian” of Mr. Benny’s calibre, on the screen, is the power to improvise speeches, or “ad lib.” He relates, for example, that a matinee audience at the varieties always includes enough of that large class known as housewives to make comment like, “I’ll bet there are plenty of sinks filled with unwashed dishes this afternoon” surefire, in the parlance. In the same manner, comical reference to a preceding act on the bill, particularly one which has “gone over big,” never fails to elicit laughter.
“A reference of this kind, or the mention of any current news topic,” Mr. Benny explains, “establishes an intangible bond with an audience, which senses or believes it senses that, the reference being impromptu, one’s entire monologue must be!
“Still, in a talking film, one has the satisfaction of knowing that one’s performance will be as fresh and amusing the five-thousandth time as the first. Provided,” he added, with a twinkle, “that it is any good the first time.

“So both mediums have their advantages.”
Mr. Benny speaks of the differing methods employed by other comedians. Al Jolson, he says, possesses the gift of making his auditor believe in him utterly. Ken Murray has a glib tongue and this failing can resort to slapstick for a laugh. Olsen and Johnson, though unfunny themselves, use the elements of surprise and incongruity in staccato order successfully. The extremely garrulous Joe Cook and Julius Tannen pour forth unconnected nonsense in perfect seriousness. And Robert Benchley and Donald Ogden Stewart represent the average fellow in what is usually called a tough spot.
“For myself,” Mr. Benny confesses, “I am definitely committed to the sort of thing I am doing now. I have been in vaudeville and revues for seven years; it was not until I first tried acting as a master of ceremonies three years ago, that I varied my monologue at all. I didn’t dare; I was too frightened!
“Curious, isn’t it, that my chief stock in trade is my nonchalance, when really I am so timorous? I have never been able to overcome it; I bemoan the inadequacy of my powers of speech, and the microphones certainly do not encourage it. I shall be glad to get back on the stage again, if only for a while. I feel the need of that human response—and badly.”

As a post-script, Benny appeared on local radio to, no doubt, promote the movie. This is from the Santa Ana Register, August 8, 1929.

Jack Benny Will Preside Tonight on KHJ Program
Jack Benny, one of the two masters of ceremonies of the “Hollywood Revue of 1929,” and famous Keith-Orpheum headliner, will be master of ceremonies at the weekly Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer program to be presented over KHJ between 8 and 9 o’clock tonight. Jack Benny will introduce on this program Kay Johnson, noted stage star, now appearing in “Dynamite,” Johnny Mack Brown, Julian Lay Faye, baritone under contract with M-G-M and the Campus Trio, three girls with pleasing voices, under contract with M-G-M for a series of short subjects. Also featured on this program will be the “Richfield Roamers,” well known to listeners over KHJ.

A Commercial About Commercials

Television had a problem in 1959. It was called the Quiz Show Scandal.

What a less jaded and cynical society were we in the ‘50s. We trusted television. Television was our friend. But then television betrayed us. We discovered we had been lied to and what was airing on those big-money game shows with real people was all fake.

Broadcasting, like any business with huge money involved, preferred to make sure the government didn’t interfere with its inward cash flow, promising self-regulation. It had to move fast when the quiz show scandal finally outraged everyone (including politicians who saw “hearings” as a way to score vote-equalling PR points). So the National Association of Broadcasters created the Television Information Office, kind of at arm’s length, designed to provide information about the industry. It began a PR campaign as well. And cartoons were part of it.

Those of you who grew up in the 1960s and early ‘70s will remember stations would occasionally show a slide of the NAB’s “Seal of Good Practice” and a booth announcer would explain how the station followed the Television Code, etc. (I haven’t a clue when stations stopped doing that). In addition, in 1960 the TIO hired advertising agency McCann-Erickson to come up with two one-minute and two 20-second spots to explain the Code.

Broadcasting magazine goes into great length about the TIO and NAB in its issue of September 26, 1960. Unfortunately, it didn’t reveal what company received the contract to make the animated spots. It did, however, post frames along with some dialogue.(My wild guess is they were done in New York).





Whether the actual PSAs from this campaign are hidden away on the internet, I have no idea. But I have an affection for 1950s industrial and commercial cartoon designs and that’s the reason behind this post. You can see that these designs are turning away from the really angular and highly-stylised ones of the ‘50s.

Commercial and public service animation is a huge subject to cover. I don’t know how big the interest is, but it would be great to see more study and research done on the topic. Thunderbean Animation has come out with collections of non-theatrical films from that era and, some time ago, Amid Amidi put out the book “Cartoon Modern” with some examples of beautiful and brilliant designs, but so much more could be done.

It's Only a Cartoon

Heckle and Jeckle forget that they are birds and, thus, can fly in Satisfied Customer (1954). They plummet after escaping a large bubble in mid-air.



They shake hands goodbye. This is the end.



“Don’t worry, chum,” says Heckle. “This is only a cartoon.”



The scene pulls back to reveal it is a cartoon. The two bounce safely into an inkwell.



Well, if it’s good enough for Max Fleischer in the 1920s, it’s good enough for Paul Terry in the 1950s.

Not Quite a War Dance

The Old Pioneer (1934) feels more like a Merrie Melodies cartoon than it does a Happy Harmonies short, which is what it is. Maybe it’s the presence of “California, Here I Come” and a few other tunes that remind of Carl Stalling.

Or maybe it’s the gags. They seem more at place in a 1934 Warners cartoon. Here’s an example. An Indian in a war dance suddenly switches to a strut-walk, with Scott Bradley changing the music to kind of a blues. I wonder if the Indian is supposed to be Cal Calloway-ish; the music isn’t hokey enough to be Ted Lewis or Eddie Jackson.



Bradley doesn’t get screen credit. Neither do the animators.

Secretaries for Street

Eve Arden once remarked how teachers loved her character on Our Miss Brooks. They liked how Connie Brooks was smart, witty, independent and how Arden never made fun of the teaching profession.

The same can be said for Barbara Hale on Perry Mason. Hale’s Della Street was intelligent and loyal, competent and independent. She was cool under pressure and in control. I suspect secretaries, legal and otherwise, were happy to see one of their television kin who wasn’t dependent or behave like an airhead.

Here are a couple of stories from United Press International about Hale’s relationship with real-life secretaries. First up is a story from July 18, 1960 followed by one from September 1, 1961. Since someone will mention it if I don’t, the “Billy” in the second column is known today as actor William Katt.

Hale’s portrayal won her an Emmy in 1959. She was brought back every time Perry Mason was revived in TV specials. She was 94 when she died in 2017.

Barbara Hale Gives Tips For Hopeful Secretaries
Editor's Note: UPI Hollywood correspondent Joe Finnigan is on vacation. Writing for him today is Barbara Hale, Perry Mason's TV secretary, who has become a heroine to the nation's stenographers.
By BARBARA HALE
HOLLYWOOD, July 17 (UPI)— I may not get the most fan mail in Hollywood, but of this fact I'm sure: I get the neatest letters of anybody in the industry.
THE REASON is that they are mostly from secretaries. Secretaries seem to like "Della Street," the character I've been portraying for three years on "Perry Mason" and are generous enough to tell us so. I thought, therefore, that the reasons why they do would be of interest to others who also like Della but who haven't paused to analyze her virtues.
Every conscientious girl who plans a secretarial career has, I'm sure, a preconceived notion of the ideal secretary. Schools and friends in business help to form this notion. National Secretarial Association publicity contributes.
DELLA SEEMS to exemplify the best, according to the research I've done on the letters of appreciation which have come my way. Following are the three factors I find most often:
She is loyal to her employer, but above all she is loyal to the job. In Della's case, she is a devotee of liberty and justice, and helping Perry Mason is the best way she knows how to advance her cause.
She never loses sight of the fact that she is her employer's secretary. She never presumes upon her friendship for him or his friendship for her. She dresses smartly and always in good taste.
CREDIT FOR DELLA STREET of course, goes to her creator, Erle Stanley Gardner, who has written 100 "Perry Mason" novels and who, every season, reminds the television production company of the "musts" he has established in portraying his principal characters.
And does he know what he's talking about? He hired his secretary more than 25 years ago and he still has her.
And her rewards? Among many is partnership in Paisano Productions, which not only produces "Perry Mason" but will produce eventually the many other Erle Stanley Gardner properties.

Barbara Hale Rates As A Celebrity To Legal Secretaries
By RICK Du BROW
UPI Hollywood Writer
Hollywood — (UPI) — It isn't often that an actress becomes a celebrity in the legal profession—but Barbara Hale, the perfect secretary of the Perry Mason TV show, is breaking new ground.
Miss Hale, who plays Della Street on the CBS series, is in constant demand at meeting of legal secretaries' associations—just as her video boss, Raymond Burr, often addresses lawyers' gatherings.
"Not long ago," said the shapely, dark-haired actress at a restaurant here, "I drove to a meeting of the National Association of Legal Secretaries in Monterey, Calif. and the gals told me the thing they liked best about me on the show is that I don't say much . . . yet I'm always around when needed.
"They also criticized me a little.
"They kidded me for sitting at the counsel table in court, because it's not legal."

Miss Hale, who was born in DeKalb, Ill., 39 years ago, and Burr, who plays Erle Stanley Gardner's famed fictional lawyer-detective on the program, team up off the screen too by going to an occasional legal gathering together.
Miss Hale, who is married to actor Bill Williams, said she has a tremendous personal admiration for Burr — "and from a strictly professional viewpoint, I think he has fantastic sex appeal, too."
"I've played opposite guys like Jimmy Stewart and Frank Sinatra in the movies," she said, "but I've never seen such female reaction to an actor as I have for Ray.
"He's a knight-on-a-white-horse type, and women of all ages that I've met seem affected by him that way. I have a constant flood of mail from girls to old women who always ask me about him—you know, 'woman to woman.' They want to know what it's like working for him.
"And there's no question about it, he seems to get better looking. In addition to which he's a great cook and a real gourmet."
Miss Hale, who also has attended meetings of legal secretaries in Los Angeles and San Diego, Cal., said her five-year contract on the show runs out in another year — and although she'd like to stay on, "I'm tiring, and there are my three children to take care of. If the show goes on and on and on . . . well, I just don't know about staying.
"The hours kill me, and make it tough on family life, which comes first. The long days on a weekly hour-long show take their toll. At the end of our first year, all of us — including Ray — nearly collapsed."
The deep-voiced actress said, however, she's been particularly fortunate on the show because "the sexy, movie type" of star seems to take second place to less glamorous, more homey style women on TV.
"Don't forget, TV's right in your living room, with the kids," she said.
She said she was convinced of her success when her 7-year-old son, Billy, was asked on his first day of school, what his mother did, and he replied: "Mom's a secretary."
"That's when I knew I had arrived," she said.

Rubber Hose Disney

Rubber Hose Disney is Fun Disney.

There’s no real plot to The Jazz Fool. But it’s 1929. Music, co-ordinated sound effects and a topper gag-ending was all that cartoons needed back then.

It was also still the Rubber Hose Era. See how these cows whip their arms and legs around like spaghetti.



They wouldn’t be dancing like this in Fantasia.

Despite the title, there’s no jazz in the first half of the cartoon. We get a pipe organ playing “London Bridge is Falling Down” as the cows dance, accompanied by a cow bell which neither of them is wearing.