Meet my boss, Walter Lantz

 

Oct. 18, 1957
BY HAL MORRIS
Mirror-News Staff Writer

There may be no production of cartoon shorts for theaters within five years, warns Walter Lantz, veteran cartoonist-producer.

The creator of Woody Woodpecker blames the possible end of a theater cartoon era on skyrocketing costs and the lack of extra funds from exhibitors.

"But there'll always be a market for cartoons," he hastens to point out. "Even if no more cartoons are made, old ones will continue to be screened on a periodic basis."

In 28 years, Lantz has produced 600 cartoons released through Universal Pictures Co. Thirteen cartoons are slated for production next year.

Seven cartoon producers turned out 175 shorts in 1947, Lantz mentions. Now, he adds, only 75 cartoons are scheduled this year by five producers.

He says in 1941 seven- to eight-minute cartoons were made for $15,000 ($208,367.01 USD 2006). If produced the same way today, he figures, the same cartoon would cost $75,000 ($537,396.28 USD 2006). However, average cost now is $35,000 ($250,784.93 USD 2006) and some of the quality is lost.

Cartoons are one or two minutes shorter now than in 1941, Lantz reveals. A 45-piece orchestra for background music in 1941 has been scaled down to a dozen men. Animators were paid $70 a week in 1941 compared with a minimum of $225 ($1,612.19 USD 2006) now, Lantz explains.

Meanwhile, exhibitors are paying only 15% more now for cartoons than in the prewar days, he stresses.

"Exhibitors still won't pay 25 cents extra for a booking," Lantz emphasizes. "We're lucky to get $100 a week for a cartoon at a first-run theater. But the fee goes as low as $4 a week at second-run small-town houses."

Despite the glum outlook for the cartoon industry, Lantz expects his Walter Lantz Productions (of which he is sole owner) to increase business next year. He started his firm with $20,000 in 1937, now values it at $6 million.

Sensing the downward trend in cartoons, Lantz has expanded to television, where he shows older cartoons on ABC-TV (Thursdays, 5 p.m.). "If TV hadn't come along, there would be a very sad picture in the cartoon industry," he says.

"I'm aiming for the biggest teenage and adult audience of any cartoon show on TV," Lantz declares. On the TV show, he includes short segments on how cartoons are made. He also makes TV commercials, using Woody Woodpecker.

Lantz sees no additional producing firms entering the field. "To start out today it would cost a firm $40,000 for each six-minute short and there are many obstacles in the way." The figure does not include rent, camera equipment, etc.

"It takes four years of showings to break even," he explains. "And if it weren't for reissues (about every seven years) I'd be out of business today."

Bombing in Viet-Nam

Oct. 22, 1957

Matt Weinstock

Oct. 21, 1957

Last Friday, a Hollywood hillsider named George was unable to start his car--the battery was dead.

A neighbor obligingly drove him down the hill to a gas station, where George asked if he could get a rental battery for a couple of days.

"Rental battery?" echoed the attendant. "There's no such thing any more."

However, he said he would be glad to install a new one.

George declined. He explained he needed rental battery only for a couple of days to run some errands preparatory to leaving today for New York for a couple of months. He didn't want to buy a new battery because it would go dead during his absence.

The attendant was sorry. He didn't know where George might rent a battery.

George phoned the auto club of which he is a member and got the same answer. He asked what had happened to the rental battery service that used to be commonplace. There was no profit in it, he was told. Oh, he might find a small station somewhere that handled rental batteries but none of the big stations bothered with them any more.

George didn't buy a new battery. His neighbor came to his rescue to run his errands. And he is leaving for New York gloomily impressed anew by our economy of extravagance.

ONLY IN L.A.--A South Westwood lady answered the doorbell recently and a strange couple stood there. The woman said:

"We've passed your house many times and we love it--we'd like to buy it."

The owner said it was not for sale.

Last week the couple reappeared and the woman said:

"I know you said your house was not for sale but in case you should change your mind we'd like to make a bid."

The owner said it was no use, but they insisted and bid $35,000.

"This is very strange," said the owner. "We paid $24,000 for this house and at the time we thought it was too much. About a year ago we were offered $42,000, which was ridiculous. Now you offer $35,000, which is also too much. This is the most overrated house I ever saw but we like it and we're going to keep it."

But because the strangers were so nice she gave them the house plans, free.

DURING THE FUROR over financial aid to college athletes, the profs remained reticent. Now apparently they're speaking out. In any event, this letter is making the rounds of university faculties, eliciting wry smiles:

"Dear Coach: Remembering our discussion of your football men who were having trouble in English, I have decided to ask you, in turn, for help.

"We feel that Paul Spindleshanks, one of our most promising students, has a chance for a graduate scholarship, which would be a great thing for him and our college.

"Paul is qualified academically but must also have a good record in athletics. He tries but he has trouble because he is so weak.

"We propose that you give special consideration to Paul, putting him in the backfield of the varsity football team. In this way, we can make a showing to the committee deciding on scholarships.

"We realize Paul will be a problem on the field but, as you have often said, cooperation between our department and yours is highly desirable.

"Chairman, English Dept."

AT RANDOM--A large ad for a used car dealer in the San Fernando Valley was headed, "Experienced Automobiles." And after all, who can afford an inexperienced automobile? ... Akira Hasegawa of the Regional Planning Commission, on assignment as liaison man with the APCD, tells people his name is as common in Japanese as Jones is in English. So when people want to speak to him but can't remember his name they ask for Mr. Jones--and get him... Paul Fierro, the actor, suggests the Dodgers be named the Esquinadores, which is what they're called in the Mexican papers now. It's from the verb esquinar, meaning to dodge or cut around a corner.

Paul V. Coates--Confidential File

Oct. 21, 1957

When a funnyman tries to be serious, he doesn't always come across.

In fact, sometimes his sincerity is rewarded with laughs that approach guffaws. And, much as he hates it, the guy is downright hilarious.

And maybe that was Sy Miller's trouble.

For years Sy had been known around Hollywood as a solid comedy writer, a man who could knock out a funny script for television or a good act for nightclubs with equal ease. 

Occasionally, with his wife, Jill, he'd punch out a song, too. Novelty numbers--the kind that have to hit the market at the right time with the right voice or they fall harder than a bad joke.

It was two years ago last spring that Sy had his moment of seriousness.

He had an idea for a song, and with his wife he polished it into something final.

The lyric was based on an old Oriental proverb.

First, they played it for their two teenage daughters and the girls liked it fine. Of course, Sy wasn't blind to the fact that the kids might be favorably biased, inasmuch as the writers were their own parents.

And he put his attempt to express a serious emotion into a drawer marked "Forget It."

It probably would still be there today, except for the fact that, a few months later, his daughters went to "Anytowners" youth camp, sponsored by the National Conference of Christians and Jews.

And the fact that the girls have good memories.

Because one of them--in her first letter home--wrote:

Dad, when you visit us, would you bring some copies of the serious song you and Mom wrote. We told some of the kids about it and we'd like to use it in one of our 'sings' up here."

The Millers dug it out and took it to camp on their first visit.

And, before they left for home again, they heard some 200 teenagers join voices to sing it for them.

It wasn't long afterward that they started getting requests from school and youth groups for copies. The young campers, on returning to their homes, had obviously spread the word.

Shortly before Christmas of 1955, the Lincoln High School Choir learned the song and presented it on a "Young America Sings" radio program.

And more requests came in--nearly all from teenagers.

But slowly, the word spread to some adults.

Jack Carson sang the song on New Year's Day of 1956.

Champ Butler made a recording. So did Roy Rogers.

One by one, other artists tried it on radio and TV. Among them, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Bob Crosby, Jack Smith, Rhonda Fleming and Roberta Linn.

Stanley S. Slotkin, president of Abbey Rents, was among those who heard it. He liked it so much that he volunteered to distribute copies to all who wanted them--for nothing.

In three months, he passed out more than 100,000.

Today, Miller estimates more than half a million persons in the United States and 15 other countries have sung his song.

The opening lines explain the emotion quite simply:

"Let there be peace on earth.

"Let it begin with me."

And now that his song is on its way, Miller's glad that it got its start the way it did--through the interest of tomorrow's adults.

He's even optimistic enough to hope that it's significant.

Rock Hudson's wedding album

I went down to The Times' archives and pulled Rock Hudson's wedding pictures because I'm the kind of person who would want to see Rock Hudson's wedding pictures. Please note: All captions are from original information provided when the photos were taken.

Really.

 

Times file photo, Nov. 9, 1955
Film actor Rock Hudson, 29, and Phyllis Gates, 25, former executive assistant to actor's business manager, cut wedding cake after their surprise marriage Wednesday night in Santa Barbara.

For more pictures, click below:

Death in Arcadia

 

Oct. 21, 1957
Arcadia

OK, we got another strangled woman. You want to go? Fine, get in.

Not much traffic at 2 a.m., is there? We'll cruise along Sierra Madre Boulevard through the little town of Sierra Madre and out to Arcadia. Right on Santa Anita, left on Virginia and another left on Highland Oaks. Nice big homes out here, aren't there? All these ranch houses they're putting in.

This is the place, 1821 Alta Oaks Drive. Cost $50,000.* 2,900 square feet. That's big where I come from.

Be quiet, don't move anything and keep your hands in your pockets. Notice how they don't lock the doors. I guess they figure nothing ever happens in Arcadia. Let's go in.

This is the home of Albert W. Tracy and his wife, Marion. He's an executive with Anaconda Wire and Cable Co.  They're both 48 and have been married 26 years, with a married daughter who lives in Denver and a son at USC who drove up to Berkeley this weekend to see the Trojans play Cal.

Earlier this evening the Tracys had some friends over, Edward McGlone and his wife. After they left, Albert went to bed about 11 p.m. The last time he saw Marion alive she was in the living room. He just woke up a little while ago, went into the bathroom and took an aspirin. He wondered why she hadn't come to bed and called to her but went back to sleep when she didn't answer.

Ready? Let's go into the son's bedroom. Notice the French doors aren't locked.

That's Marion on the bed. She's wearing a blue nylon nightgown and a white terrycloth robe. Later on when Albert finds her, he's going to put her feet on the bed and cover her with a blanket, but that's not how she looks now. She has a man's blue, silk necktie wound around her neck. The sheriff's investigators will say that it isn't knotted very tightly. And there's some blood hemorrhaged out of her left ear.

Notice that nothing is out of place anywhere in the house and that she's still wearing her wedding and engagement ring.

Your old friend Dr. Frederick Newbarr is going to find that she has an abnormal amount of aspirin in her body--but the papers don't say how much. He's going to say was strangled. 

At the inquest, Tracy will testify that everything was fine between him and Marion. The children will say their mother often threatened to kill herself, but they don't say why. Her 49th birthday would have been Nov. 13. The jury will rule the death a suicide.

Well, we better get going. Albert's going to wake up and come looking for Marion. He'll call the doctor, who will tell him to phone the Fire Department. But she's already gone.

He's going to tell the police: "I can't understand it. Somebody must have come into the house in the night and done this."

 

Photograph by Larry Harnisch / Los Angeles Times
1821 Alta Oaks Ave., Arcadia, Calif., Oct. 14, 2007

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*$358264.19 USD 2006.