Jerry Gets Panned

A frying pan turns into lines as Nibbles accidentally bashes Jerry in The Milky Waif (1946).



Mike Lah is part of the Hanna-Barbera unit in this one, along with Ken Muse and Ed Barge. I believe this is a Lah scene.

As a bonus, here’s an endless loop of Jerry swinging Tom by the tail in eight drawings. Barge is the animator (credit to Mark Kausler). It’s about four times faster in the cartoon. Disney would have probably done it at this speed and added a pile of in-betweens.

Jokers Jack and George

Jack Benny and George Burns may have been the biggest best friends in the comedy world in Hollywood. Burns was famous for breaking up Benny, usually at the most inopportune moments. They played practical jokes on each other, too.

Here are some examples. These are two different unbylined stories, but they obviously came from the same source material as sentences are used verbatim. The first is from Rochester TV Life of March 8-14, 1952, the second from Radio TV Life of October 31, 1952.

Vaudeville Friends . . . Burns, Allen and Benny
Jack Benny and George Burns have been friends since their early days in vaudeville.
Back in those days they shared bachelor quarters and started pulling jokes on each other. They became benedicts at about the same time (George in 1926 and Jack in 1927), which only served to strengthen their friendship and make for a continued series of personalized, wacky practical jokes.
The night that George married Gracie Allen in Cleveland, Jack called up from Vancouver at 4 A.M, "Hello, this is Jack Benny," he announced. George said, "Bring up two orders of ham and eggs!" and hung up.
While George was playing the Palace in New York, Jack sent him this wire from San Diego: "I think your act is sensational. You've got the cleverest routine, the funniest gags Broadway has ever heard. I think you're a genius—better than Chaplin!" He signed it "George Burns."
After George and Gracie had made their radio debut, Jack addressed a fan letter to his pal: "I listened to your program last night and I think it was swell. I would appreciate it very much if you would send me a picture of Tom Mix's horse."
Forthwith, George found a photo of a jackass and inscribed it "To my very dear friend, Jack Benny." Jack acknowledged it with "Thank you for your picture."

On one occasion Jack wrote George a six-page letter. George, it seems, was too busy to answer, so he switched the names in the salutation and signature, and sent the letter back. Jack redoubled, and for a year and a half, that was the only letter that passed between them.
The most expensive and widely-heralded exchange of jokes between the two funsters came this wise:
On the opening night of Benny's engagement at the London Palladium in 1948, George put in a long distance call for him from his Beverly Hills, Calif., home. When the connection was made, George said, "Hello, Jack. This is George Burns," then abruptly hung up.
Jack got reprisal in full measure on the opening night for George and Gracie, the following year, at the Palladium. He flew all the way from Hollywood, and made his way to the apartment of Val Parnell, manager of the Palladium, where a party was in progress in honor of Burns and Allen.
Before he arrived, he picked up Jane Wyman (then making a movie in London) and asked her to be his stooge in the finale to this running gag. Unbeknownst to George or Gracie, they hid in a room adjoining the party in progress.
Jane played like a veddy British telephone operator, and pretended to be putting through a call to George from Hollywood. "Mr. Burns, Mr. Burns," she said, "Hollywood calling, Mr. Burns. Righto, it's Mr. Benny. I'll put him on the wire now."
George, in the other room, exclaimed to the guests, "That Jack!" Jack then said, "Hello, George," and hung up.
"He hung up on me!" George said rather plaintively. And he had hardly finished the sentence when Jack walked into the room.
George was so overwrought he cried.
Following a gruelling tour of the battlefronts of Korea to entertain the troops in 1951. Benny returned to Hollywood to resume his radio and television activities. George had not seen Jack since his return, but he was not at a loss for a gag when Benny casually sauntered backstage at rehearsal for the Burns and Allen TV show.
"Why, hello, Jack," he said casually, "when are you leaving for Korea?"
Jack did what he usually does when George pulls a "fasty."
He doubled up with laughter, and hung onto George's knees before he straightened up.
He thinks George is the funniest man on earth. The feeling is mutual.
Back in the '40s, Burns and Allen contemplated a change in format before starting a new series of their radio show. Benny voluntarily attended many of the preliminary meetings in the office of the advertising agency. He offered some good advice. It was taken, and the new Burns and Allen show got off to a flying start.
George and Jack are pals who know how to talk—and listen.

Show Business’s Oldest Feud
The Battle of Wits That Entertains the Participants, Their Friends and Foes Has Raged for a Quarter of a Century
THE CURTAIN had hardly hit the floor at the close of a George Burns and Gracie Allen Show when the phone started ringing backstage in Studio A of the CBS headquarters in Hollywood.
An attendant answered, and a familiar voice asked for George. It was Jack Benny, calling from Detroit.
George scurried to the phone while the applause of the studio audience still rang in his ears. "Hi, Jay," he said. "What's Up?"
Benny came back with, "Oh, I was just sitting around with a bunch of newspaper guys here in Detroit, telling a lot of lies. But this is no lie. Your show, which we just saw, was a real smash. Really great."
"Well, Jay, Gracie and I felt it came off pretty well, but we could always do better."
The Gag
After some more persiflage, George asked Jack why he was stopping in Detroit, and the latter, reputedly a pinchpenny and Maxwell driver, replied laconically that he had just bought a new Cadillac. Also that he was driving back to Hollywood with Frankie Remley, the guitarist, as a traveling companion.
"Well, Jay," George said, "I beat you to the punch. I bought one last week here in Hollywood, and I've already got fifty-two miles on it!"
Moaned Benny, "Now I'm glad I got these charges reversed to you at CBS!"
Started Long Ago

Jack Benny and George Burns, two of today's greatest comics, have been friends since their early days in vaudeville. Back in those days they shared bachelors quarters and started pulling jokes on each other. They never stopped.
The night that George married Gracie Allen in Cleveland, Benny called up from Vancouver. He waited until 4:00 in the morning to call. "Hello, this is Jack Benny," he announced. George barked, "Bring up two orders of ham and eggs!" and hung up.
Later, when George and Gracie made their radio debut, Jack addressed a fan letter to his pal: "I listened to your program last night and I think it was swell. I would appreciate it very much if you would send me a picture of Tom Mix's horse."
George immediately found a photo of a jackass and wrote across it, "To my very dear friend, Jack Benny." Jack acknowledged it with, "Thank you for your picture."
The most expensive and widely heralded exchange of jokes started on the opening night of Benny's engagement at the London Palladium in 1948. George put in a long-distance call for him from his Beverly Hills, California, home. When the connection was made, George said, "Hello, Jack. This is George Burns." Then abruptly hung up.
Paid Back
Jack got even in full a year later when George and Gracie opened at the Palladium. He flew all the way from Hollywood, and made his way to an apartment where a party was in progress in honor of Burns and Allen. Before he arrived, however, he picked up Jane Wyman (then making a movie in London) and asked her to stooge for his stunt. She would—and did. Unbeknown to George and Gracie, they hid in a room next to the party apartment.
Then Jane played a veddy, veddy British phone operator and pretended to put through a call to George, from Hollywood. "Mr. Burns, Mr. Burns," she said, "Hollywood calling, Mr. Burns. Righto, it's Mr. Benny. I'll put him on."
George, in the other room, exclaimed happily to the guests, "That's Jack!" Just then Jack said, "Hello, George." And hung up.
"He hung up on me!" George said plaintively. And he had hardly finished the sentence when Jack walked into the room.
George was so overwrought he cried.

An Interview With Jack Mercer

This lengthy transcription from the National Board of Review Magazine of October, 1938 is self-explanatory. The date of the actual broadcast needs to be researched. The only observation I’ll make is to note the reference to animator being the director of a cartoon at Fleischers.

Making a Cartoon
THE editors have decided that it might be of interest to Motion Picture Councils and other groups to publish from time to time the complete scripts of selected broadcasts given under the auspices of the National Board over the New York City Station WNYC. The purpose of publishing these scripts in the Magazine is to assist any groups who may be considering making similar broadcasts over their local stations. The following script is an example of a light, but instructive talk on an aspect of movie-making that demands cheerful treatment — namely, the animated cartoon. The authors are Jack Mercer, director of dialog, and Thomas Moore, animator, both of the Fleischer Studios. The letters in the margin indicate the speakers' first names. Speaking time : 15 minutes.

Announcer : Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is the National Board of Review of Motion Pictures continuing its series of forums on various aspects of motion pictures. In response to a number of requests for a discussion of short and full length cartoons, we have pleasure in presenting this evening two speakers from the studio of Max Fleischer. From this studio come Popeye the Sailor, the man who has made young America spinach-conscious, and many other cartoon celebrities. The two speakers are Mr. Thomas Moore, one of the Fleischer studio's animators, and Mr. Jack Mercer, the director of dialog. If any of you imagine that an animator is an instrument for registering electrical discharges, Mr. Moore will put you right and give a real account of the importance of an animator's work in the drawing and painting of a cartoon. Mr. Mercer hasn't got much to say about this side of cartoon making, but he's going to show you who's behind the strange sounds and chatter that accompany the characters in a cartoon. So now I'll turn the forum over to them and let them handle it in their own way. Will you lead off, Mr. Mercer, or would you like me to start things going with a few questions ?
J. Mr. Announcer, this might be a little irregular, but I wonder if you would do me a favor by allowing me to be the interviewer this evening. I've always wanted to put Mr. Moore on the spot.
A. Surely, go ahead, the mike is yours.
J. Good evening, Mr. Moore.
T. Hello, Jack, what are you doing here?
J. I'm going to be the interviewer, so just assume that I know nothing at all about the making of cartoons.
T. What do you mean — assume?
J. I walked into that. Well, on with the interview. I'm sure everyone is interested in animated cartoons. Will you tell us something of their history?
T. Thomas Edison experimented with the idea of animated drawings as early as 1900, but the first man to make an animated cartoon film was the great cartoonist, Windsor McCay. The idea struck him as he observed his young son flipping the pages of a book of "Magic Pictures." After many months of extensive study, he made an animated version of his cartoon strip, "Little Nemo in Slumber Land." But he considered this film only an experiment and in 1909, two years after his first attempt, he made the first film for exhibition, "Gertie, the Dinosaur." Prior to 1922, most animated cartoons were made with paper cut-outs and were pretty crude.

J. You mean sorta like cutting out paper dolls, eh?
T. Yes, exactly. You should know. The drawings of the characters in different positions were cut-out and pasted over a simple background and then photographed in sequence. But since that time many improvements have been made, so that today we have the full length feature cartoon.
J. A great many people seem to think that the full length cartoon involves a different and more complicated process of production.
T. The only real difference is a matter of length, the feature being much longer permits the story to be told with more finesse and detail. The average short requires about 10,000 drawings and takes approximately seven minutes to be shown on the screen, while the full-length feature requires more than a quarter-million drawings and runs over an hour.

J. There certainly has been a great advance made in the industry. Why don't you tell our listeners how the work on a modern cartoon begins ?
T. Gladly. The modern studio is a beehive of activity, highly systematized.
J. In simple language you mean they do a lot of work.
T. It takes over 230 artists and technicians at least ten weeks to prepare the drawings which make up an animated movie cartoon. Work on the cartoon begins when the musical director and scenario writers call into conference a few of the head artist animators. (J. ad. lib. "Tell 'em I'm in the Story Dept.") They discuss the general lines of the plot and principal gags. (J. ad. lib.) The music which is to be adapted to the plot is selected. By the way, Jack, you are in the story department. I'm sure you could explain just how your department functions.
J. Huh ? Oh. To be sure. To be sure. Well, the first thing we do is try to get an idea or facsimile —
T. (taking up) And after getting the idea of synopsis, the story men write a script in complete form for the animators. In order to do this they must know all the cartoon characters intimately — how they think and how they react. They must know the limitations imposed upon them by the censors, by the audiences, and by the technicalities of production. In other words, a certain subject might be condoned by one country and barred by another. One community might be nattered by an incident that would insult the next. You may like a picture that I thought dull and boring. So, if the script can please some of the people part of the time, then the job is well-done.
J. Then the story goes to the Animation Department — and that's how we write stories.
T. Very good, Jack. The head animator, upon receiving a new story, visualizes the picture and roughly lays it out illustrating each scene. He then calls his group together for a conference, when, through analysis and discussion, they try to get into the mood of the story. The scenes are then divided amongst the group and they start to work. And that is where the fun begins. If you unexpectedly walked in on a group of animators at work, you would probably be amazed at what you saw. For the chances are, you would find one chap standing in front of a full-size mirror gesticulating wildly and making horrible faces at himself. Another on roller skates in the center of the room would be trying to act like Olive Oyl, while a couple of his colleagues offer helpful suggestions such as : — "Tom, try that fall again, only this time throw your feet higher so that when you land your weight is more concentrated in one spot. We want to see how high you bounce."
The survivors then sit at their desks and attempt to draw on paper what they saw. An animator never knows what he may be called on to draw next. It might range from a pigmy wedding ceremony to a Giant ball game.
J. Personally, I'm a Brooklyn fan.
T. You would be. . . .
J. I resemble that !
T. At this point, I would like to make an observation. In order to be an animator, one must be slightly wacky.
J. You should make a very successful animator, Mr. Moore.
T. Thank you so much. But drawing is not the only phase of the animator's work, for he must give complete instructions to each department as to the handling of his scene. He is director, actor, technician.
J. And wacky.

T. The animator does not make every drawing, for that would take up too much of his time. He only makes the extremes, or key drawings, and then an assistant, or "in-betweener," completes the scene. For instance, if he wants to animate an apple falling from a tree, he makes one drawing of the apple as it starts to fall and another at the end of the fall. The in-betweeners then make the drawings that will carry the apple from one position to the other. The animator regulates the speed of the fall by indicating the number of drawings that must be made between the two positions. When the animator starts his scene of the apple falling, he first makes a rough drawing or layout to serve as a guide to the Background Department, for every action has to take place in a proper setting or location. With this guide the background artists make a detailed and carefully rendered water-color drawing of the scene.
J. And that completes the work on the picture.

T. No, the picture is far from being completed after the animators have done their job, and an enormous volume of technical work is necessary before the "shooting", or photography, can take place. In the Inking Department, each drawing is traced on transparent celluloids. This work plays a very important part in the general scheme of preparing for the camera.
J. Oh, then the drawings are ready for photographing ?
T. No. The Coloring Department now receives the celluloids together with the corresponding animators' drawings. The Colorers, or Opaquers, fill in all the blank spaces between the ink lines with paint of various shades. All colors and shades are used for the purpose. This process is highly technical and the task is very arduous, but very important ; as only a perfectly colored set of drawings will result in clear and perfect photography.
J. Well, how do you photograph these individual drawings so that they will appear to move ?
T. The photographing process for cartoons is essentially the same as in regular moving pictures. The same type of camera catches the progressive movements of the cartoon character, recording each successive movement. The difference between the regular and the cartoon camera is only in the speed of operation. When filming a regular moving picture, the camera runs 90 feet of film per minute.
Not so the cartoon camera, where individual drawings are being photographed. The work here proceeds very slowly because of the time spent by the operator for removing the photographed drawing and then assembling and adjusting the celluloids for the next photograph. One foot of film may take a whole hour to photograph, and the camera, instead of photographing 90 feet a minute, as in the case of the regular moving picture, may take a whole day to photograph 30 feet of cartoon film.

J. Now, we come to the process which plays so great a part in making moving pictures today, and especially cartoons. The application, of sound is called "Sound Synchronization."
T. That's right. In the spacious projection room the sound director, vocal artists, and the effects men face the screen. They watch the running film, harmonizing the voices and sound effects while the picture is being projected. Microphones in effective positions in the recording room pick up and carry the sound over wires to a sound-proof room, where wax and film records are made. The recording thus made is called a "take" and the film record is called a "sound track." The picture is projected on the screen a second time while the wax record is "played back." The directors now get the result of their first synchronized effort, pick the flaws and make the necessary corrections for the second "take" to follow. This procedure may be repeated again and again until a perfect or satisfactory "take" is accomplished, after which the "played back" wax record is discarded. The film "sound track" is then developed and transferred to the picture film. This is called the finished negative from which the prints are made. Any number of prints can be made from a single negative. The animated cartoon is now ready for general distribution. (Pause) Jack, Jack, oh Jack, wake up !
J. (ad lib.) Where am I?
T. Now suppose I ask you a few questions for a change.
J. Why, for sure, for sure.
T. Inasmuch as you are in the Sound Department as well as the Story Department, perhaps you will demonstrate for us how you make some of the sounds.
J. I would be glad to.
T. Then suppose you give us your interpretation of a chicken.
J. Chicken? Mm-mm. . . (gives imitation)
T. I think that one layed an egg.
J. How is this for a cow? (gives imitation)
T. Mm — Strictly off the cob.
J. Well, you should enjoy this one. It's a pig that gets caught in the fence. The farmer saws into the fence and the pig is freed, (gives imitation)
T. The pig was very natural.
J. If you don't like those imitations, let us see what you can do.

T. Oh, it's easy. Why I can imitate three different dogs.
J. All right, go ahead.
T. This one is the Mexican Chu-wa-wa. (gives imitation)
J. Uh-huh.
T. Next, the whippet. (Repeats same imitation)
J. Oh, that's the whippet, eh?
T. And this one will be the Dalmatian Bloodhound. (Repeats same imitation)
J. Oh, those were three different dogs, eh? I must admit that was pretty good. Suppose we team up and do a cat and dog fight. You do the three dogs and I'll do the cat.
J. & T. Ad. lib.
T. And now we will close with our theme song.
J. & T. Ad. lib.
Announcer: Thank you for that moving little song, Mr. Moore and Mr. Mercer. We'll have to break it up now, I'm afraid, and I should like to apologize to our listeners for having allowed this instructive discussion to degenerate into a common cat and dog fight. At the same time I'm sure everybody who was with us tonight got a good idea of what goes into the making of cartoons and their sound accompaniment — to say nothing of the kind of people who make them. I think "wacky" was the word, Mr. Mercer . . . ? (Mercer: An animal raspberry) If you listeners agree with me and have ideas of your own regarding entertaining and instructive subjects for a film forum, please drop a postcard to Film Forum, care of this station, WNYC, at the Municipal Building, or write direct to the National Board of Review of Motion Pictures, 70 Fifth Avenue, New York City, and make any suggestions or criticisms you may wish. We'll be with you again next week, same time, and in the meanwhile this is the National Board of Review saying so long — and see you at the movies.

Bugs and Bras

You can see how silent film stars influenced Chuck Jones. His work is brimming with great expressions.

Here’s an example in Gas, a 1944 Snafu cartoon for the Army/Navy Screen Magazine. Snafu is self-satisfied as he gets set to pull his gas mask out of his satchel. Only it isn’t a gas mask.



He tries again. Aha!



Another self-satisfied look.



Cut to a side angle. He pulls out a cameo appearance by Warner Bros. biggest cartoon star. You can guess what he says to Snafu.



Sarge isn’t happy. Snafu’s expression changes as he drops Bugs out of the cartoon.



I don’t know who did this scene, but Bobe Cannon’s work appears throughout the cartoon.

He Can't Stand Noise

“Shuddup! Quiet! Don’t knock so loud! There’s one thing I hate, and that’s NOISE!” yells Joe Bear at Spike after opening the door in Rock-a-Bye Bear.

You can’t appreciate the timing by looking at a few frames, but you can see where animator Grant Simmons starts and then goes to the extremes of the bear shouting at Spike. Notice Spike following along with him, and reacting.



Walt Clinton and Mike Lah also animated this cartoon for Tex Avery, released in 1952 by MGM. Pat McGeehan is the shouting bear.

Good Night For NBC News

News has to be factual. That’s a given. But it has to be something else. News is a story and it has to be told in a way—aurally or visually—to grab someone’s attention. There’s little point in having a good, valid piece of information that is ignored.

One of finest news story-tellers was David Brinkley.

Brinkley didn’t have a booming voice; it was almost a mumble. He wasn’t a telegenic young guy that news consultants pushed on stations once upon a time. He was a clever writer, witty and occasionally sardonic, someone you wanted to hear.

Broadcasting is a funny thing. Very good people can be let go simply because someone in charge likes someone else better. That’s what happened with David Brinkley. John Cameron Swayze was anchoring the Camel News Caravan on NBC in 1956. The higher-ups at NBC didn’t like Swayze for whatever reason. They did like a couple of newsmen they saw anchor the political conventions that year—Brinkley and Chet Huntley. Swayze was out after October 26th. Huntley and Brinkley were in. (Camels were out, too. The new newscast was sponsored by Studebaker-Packard, Sperry Rand and Miles Laboratories).

Here’s an unbylined feature story about Brinkley published about two weeks after his debut, giving his life story to date as well as revealing a small setback.

Brinkley's First Newscast Was Almost His Last One
NEW YORK, Nov. 10. — Commentator David Brinkley's first network broadcast almost was his last. During a report of a news event of extraordinary interest, he mispronounced a word, and he says, needlessly, while millions listened.
Now the co-editor (with Chet Huntley) of "NBC News," Brinkley is still embarrassed about the early slip. "It was one of the broadcasts that followed the death of President Franklin D. Roosevelt," he recalls. "I mispronounced 'cortege' in 'funeral cortege.' I don't know why, for I knew the word.
"I heard about it immediately. So many people were listening in. It's very bad to mispronounce a word on the air. I was embarrassed, NBC was embarrassed, and I thought I was finished."
Certainly no one would have predicted, back in 1945, that David Brinkley would become one of the most highly praised news commentators in 1956.
He Was Surprised
Brinkley, a 36-year-old North Carolinian, was almost unknown in a national sense before the political conventions which he reported as one of NBC-TV's anchor men (Chet Huntley and Bill Henry were the others). Although he had been with NBC News for 13 years, he was hailed by television critics as a fresh new personality, a wit, a man of "few but well-chosen words."
Brinkley could hardly have been more surprised. The critics, it seemed, were praising him for being simply himself. He is naturally taciturn. "I don't talk a lot any time," he said, "I've always been really pretty shy." Even now, he said, he is acutely embarrassed when he has to broadcast before an audience that he can see.

And it had never occurred to him that, like Will Rogers, he has the knack of penetrating to the humorous heart of things without wounding and without pretense or bombast. Throughout his broadcasting career, Brinkley has resolutely refused to play the solemn, all-knowing pundit's role. "A person on the air commenting is not there because he is smarter than other people," he said. "Millions of people looking on are smarter than I am. My job is simply to give them information that perhaps they didn't know. But this doesn't give me any reason to be a smart aleck."
David Brinkley, born in Wilmington, N.C., is tall, slender and inclined to stoop. His brown wavy hair is worn closely cropped, his eyes are blue, his eyelashes are so short as to be almost invisible. He gives the appearance of being totally relaxed. His speaking voice, while pleasant enough, is a run of-mill baritone. There is not an urgent or a strident note anywhere in it.
Worked For UP
After his graduation from the University of North Carolina as an English major, Brinkley went to work for the United Press for three years. He worked for United Press in Atlanta, Birmingham, Charlotte and Nashville, but remarks, "I was only 20 years old and I wasn't much good."
He served in the Army briefly — was released because of impaired hearing after a rifle was fired too close to his ear. Romance propelled him out of the U.P. and into broadcasting. "I was working in Charlotte and making $15 a week and I wanted to get married. Marriage was tough at that price. I'd been writing radio copy for U.P. so in 1943 I went to NBC in Washington and got a job for $60 a week."
His first NBC job was writing newscripts for Newscaster Kenneth Banghart. Sometime around 1945, William R. McAndrew, manager of the Washington news room for NBC (now Director of News for the network), encouraged Brinkley to become a newscaster. "He put me on in the early mornings so that nobody would hear me. But I'd still rather write than anything else. It's the only thing I claim to be able to do." He writes all his own scripts.
Tricky Spot
Brinkley has been Washington correspondent for NBC for five years. He believes he had his biggest television audience when President Eisenhower announced from the White House, following his heart attack, that he would run again. "He talked about 17 minutes and I had to fill in 12 minutes. It was a difficult spot to be in. I had to be careful of every word."
His toughest assignment, however, he says, was the Army-McCarthy hearings which he reported for N.B.C. for three months. "I had to take 5 or 6 hours of film that we'd made during the day and get the highlights of it on the air in from 3 to 6 minutes. And it was a very controversial subject. It nearly killed me." Again with Chet Huntley and Bill Henry, Brinkley provided a running commentary on the election. They broadcast from Studio 8-H in New York, with the assistance of a multimillion dollar array of I.B.M. and Tele-register equipment.
Brinkley and his wife, the former Ann Fischer, live outside Washington in Montgomery County, Maryland. They have three children: Alan, 7; Joel, 4, and John 1 1/2.

Huntley and Brinkley soon took over the name of their newscast and outdistanced CBS’ Douglas Edwards in the ratings (leading to Edwards’ replacement with Walter Cronkite). Huntley retired in 1970 and Brinkley carried on until the network that so badly wanted him to replace John Cameron Swayze didn’t want him any more. He left for ABC in 1981 and led a classy and thoughtful roundtable Sunday morning interview/commentary show that, arguably, became the industry’s leader. He retired in 1997 and enjoyed life for six more years before passing away a month shy of his 83rd birthday.

In a 1992 interview, Brinkley summed up himself thusly: “I've simply been a reporter covering things, and writing and talking about it.” That’s not true, if I may be allowed to editorialise. He was more than that. He was an inspiration to many, many young journalists, instilling them with the belief that news must be related correctly and well. It’s something needed society needs today, and always will.

The End of the Ocean

Walt Disney sure did love those butt gags. Or, should we say, “shore did love” because The Beach Party (1931) has Clarabelle Cow on shore thinking she’s drowning.



Mickey throws an inner tube to help her. It encases her butt. A wave comes up and....



“By the Sea” plays in the background in a good portion of the cartoon, and includes a scene of Pluto briefly tussling with a crab. Disney would make that sort of thing more elaborate as the ‘30s wore on.

Fly Fight

Porky Pig is attacked by a fly in Porky and Gabby (1937).



The tent collapses on the two of them and the fight continues.



Bob Clampett and Chuck Jones made this cartoon when Leon Schlesinger contracted some work out to Ub Iwerks’ studio. There’s no real Iwerks influence in this, but there are lots of speed and motion lines.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre — Not See It Now

Bob and Ray made fun of radio. Soap operas, crime shows, commercials, even station IDs. It got them from Boston to NBC in 1951. From radio, they moved on to making fun of television. Along the way, they also hooked up with a copywriter named Ed Graham, Jr. and together formed a production company that also made fun of things.

Here’s a piece of their handiwork from 1960, making its public debut to Blair TV regional managers at a meeting in New York on February 12th.

“See It Hear It Learn It Now” begins as a parody of Ed Murrow’s “Person to Person” TV show where he sat in a chair, smoked, and lobbed innocuous questions to a celebrity on a TV set. It moves along to make fun of the Army-McCarthy Hearings, then makes a reference to something that’s obscure today—the Mr. Magoo cancer PSA film “Inside Magoo” (1960). Slyly, they do their Arthur Godfrey/Tony Marvin routine; cleverly, Marvin is shown with gold cufflinks as he was known at the time as extremely being well-dressed. Mary Magoon made an appearance, too, as do Bob and Ray’s most famous animated characters, beer moguls Harry and Bert Piel.

There’s more, too (including references to the 1959 World Series and the Edsel, and a number of characters heard on the Bob and Ray CBS radio show of the day) but we’ll let you fans watch and enjoy.

While Goulding-Elliott-Graham was known for animated spots (and Graham went on to produce the animated “Linus the Lionhearted”) but the drawings in this film are static.

Oh, yes, that is an inside gag at the end. The guy doing the Murrow impression is Mike Baker, a former newscaster on the Mutual network. He annoyed CBS in 1957 by doing some voiceovers in the Murrow style for the Hoffman Beverage Company via Grey Advertising.

The Waukegan Whiz of Television

You never know when a newspaper is going to need to fill its space with a story about a celebrity, so film studios and TV network publicity departments came up with specific and generic stories with stock photos about their stars.

I suspect what you’re about to read came from the CBS publicity department. It appeared in various lengths in newspapers from the start of 1953 to the second half of 1954. This is the longest version I can find.

It’s a profile of Jack Benny, talking about his career and his family, not promoting anything in general. You Benny fans will have seen these details before but will be happy to read them again.

Television Viewers Find Jack Benny Fits Frustrated Character He Created On Radio
Jack Benny, who for 18 years on radio has created solely through his voice one of the greatest of comedy characters, entered America's living rooms “in the flesh” when he made his debut on television October 28, 1950.
And the millions of delighted fans who saw him on television for the first time found he fitted exactly the money pinching frustrated lovable laughmaker they so vividly imagined him to be.
Jack Benny made four broadcasts from New York during the 1950-51 season. He launched his second season, November 4, 1951, in a transcontinental broadcast originating from the CBS-TV outlet, KNXT, in Hollywood.
Benny in 1932 was one of the first of the major comedians to make the changeover from vaudeville to radio. Vaudeville was going out and big time radio was coming in.
Benny bumped into columnist Ed Sullivan one night in a Broadway restaurant. Sullivan (now host of CBS-TV's "Toast of the Town") asked him to appear on his radio program the following evening.
"But I don't know anything about radio," Jack protested. "Nobody does," Sullivan replied.
Immortal Line
Benny offered to give it a whirl gratis and on this first broadcast of his life introduced himself with an immortal line: "This is Jack Benny talking. Now there will be a brief pause for everyone to say 'Who cares?'"
Millions did care as Benny soon found out. The same year, 1932, he had a sponsor and a network program. He was a sensation from the start.
On television as on radio, Benny is the central figure in what historians of comedy call the classic insult method. It goes back to Aristophanes.
His knack of building unknown personalities into stars in their own right is well known. Dennis Day, Eddie Anderson, who plays Rochester, and Phil Harris are notable examples. And his sense of timing has been underscored by critics—a quality which contrasts strangely with the dither he works himself into in preparing his scripts. He sweats out the lines which appear to flow effortlessly and merrily over the air.
Although a battery of top gagsters whip together the raw material, Benny does the final editing, unifying and polishing. To keep the lines fresh, he cuts rehearsals to the minimum. And during the broadcast he rarely ad libs, but stops the show and howls with unrestrained laughter when others put over an unscheduled nifty.
Child Prodigy
Waukegan, Benny's home town, is a suburb of Chicago. His father, a haberdasher, insisted on violin lessons at an early age and Jack was a child prodigy in Waukegan.

One of Jack's early triumphs was playing "The Bee," a short violin piece that has been the butt of Benny jokes on the air for a decade. "The Bee sparked his famous radio feud with Fred Allen. A moppet in an Allen skit which was a take-off on amateur programs played the song and Fred commented afterward that it was Benny's old vaudeville specialty. "Only eight and you already can play 'The Bee'," Allen joked. "Why Jack Benny ought to be ashamed of himself."
The next week Benny, on his own show, indignantly declared he could produce four persons who would attest that he had played "The Bee" at the age of six. And the feud was on.
"The Bee," by the way is not "Flight of the Bumble Bee," but a piece composed by Franz Schubert but not the Franz Schubert. Seems confusion is the word for Benny.
At 13 he was a fiddler in Waukegan's leading dance orchestra and a regular on the Barrison Theater orchestra, a lone knicker-bockered figure surrounded by grown-ups. Since his teachers recall him more vividly for his wisecracks, it wasn't surprising that Jack quit school before he was 17 to team up with a vaudeville pianist named Cora Salisbury.
Jack billed himself as Benny K. Benny and at $15 a week toured Midwest theaters with his partner. He didn't tell jokes, but he drew laughs by sawing away at his violin with the little finger of the bow hand extended affectedly while his eyes followed in mock curiosity.
Jack joined another pianist named Lyman Woods and their tours took them, at the outbreak of World War I, to London's famous Palladium. They broke up and Jack joined the navy.
In a navy revue, Jack played the fiddle without much success until one night when he paused to make a few wise cracks. The crowd roared and Benny the comic was born. Thereafter, Jack was penciled into the show as Issy There, the Admiral's Disorderly.
After his discharge, Benny returned to vaudeville and to avoid confusion with another fiddling comic, Ben Bernie, he adopted the Jack Benny tag.
He worked with the greats in the vaudeville heyday and went on to the Earl Carroll and Shubert shows on Broadway.
His movie debut was as auspicious as his radio bow. A talent scout spotted him in a Los Angeles theatre in 1929. Benny got the lead in "The Hollywood Review," clicked big, and has been starred in a number of pictures since, including "Charley's Aunt," "The Horn Blows at Midnight" and "George Washington Slept Here."
Benny and his wife, Mary Livingstone, have been stage and broad casting partners for 20 years. She was Sadye Marks, a salesgirl in a Los Angeles department store when they were married in 1927. She recalls that he practically had to drag her onstage to make an actress out of her. But it was not long before she became an invaluable ingredient in the Benny fun formula.
The Bennys have a beautiful home in Beverly Hills and their home life has been a happy one. Their daughter, Joan Naomi, adopted at the age of four months and now married, is the joy of their lives.
As practically every Benny fan knows, Jack is the exact opposite in private life to the penurious, protesting character he plays on the air. He is notorious for his over-tipping. His genial manner and friendliness have made him one of the most popular figures in Hollywood.
Benny gets little time off to play, what with television schedule, weekly radio show and business interests, but when he has an hour or so to loaf he's usually out on the golf links.