Robert Morse, R.I.P.

The few times I got to speak with Robert Morse, I knew enough to not mention How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. It was the show (and movie) that really put him on the map and I did see him do it in a revival tour once and he was sensational. But I figured, "Everybody talks to him about that" and I thought he might appreciate that someone was aware of what else he'd done.

So I steered the conversation to The Loved One, which was one of the greatest "dark" comedy movies ever made. And I steered it to A Guide for the Married Man, which was like the quintessential, now-kinda-sexist sixties comedy film. And we talked about That's Life!, a short-lived ABC series that amazingly managed to present an original hour-long musical comedy every week.

And I asked him about things he'd done that I hadn't seen…like the Broadway show of Take Me Along. He was the juvenile lead and all through rehearsals and try-outs, his part kept getting whittled down because Jackie Gleason was the marquee star. Mr. Gleason was not about to let the reviews say that a young unknown stole the show from him…but it didn't work because they said that anyway. And I asked him about Tru, his then-recent Broadway triumph playing Truman Capote, which I wish I'd seen.

Mr. Morse was charming and engaging and very pleased to talk about all those other achievements. I suppose if I'd run into him more recently, he'd have been pleased that someone talked to him about gigs other than How to Succeed or Mad Men. It wasn't hard to do because he was terrific in so many things.

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My Friend Fred

So I remembered from '59 and '60, the May Company department store chain advertising that you could phone a special number and here Bugs Bunny (a key role model in my life) come in and get a special gift. David Grudt, a follower of this blog, dug into some online newspaper archives and found the ad for this which I reprinted in a message yesterday.

I also recalled the May Company doing something similar with a robot version of Fred Flintstone a few years later. David searched and could find no trace of this. But another follower of this site, Hunter Goatley, found an ad in the March 8, 1963 issue of the Independent, a newspaper published back then in Long Beach, some miles to the south of Los Angeles. And later yesterday, a gent named Clark Holloway also located and sent it to me. Here's a little piece of it…

Click above to see the whole, very long ad

…and like it says, if you click on it, you can see the whole ad, which is very long.

The ad is for the May Company in Lakewood, which is about eleven miles from Long Beach. We never went there. I saw the Flintstone Robot — I'm assuming they only built one — at the same May Company at Wilshire and Fairfax, That's the one where my parents shopped and where we went for the Bugs Bunny gift, and which is now the Motion Picture Academy's museum. I guess they just moved Robo-Fred from May Company to May Company, trying to sell the Pebbles Flintstone dolls which Ideal Toys issued.

I never thought this doll looked like the character in the show…or like anything which could have come from the union of Fred and Wilma.

The "Great Electronic Fred Flintstone" I saw at the May Company was about five feet tall and nowhere near as versatile as the ad would have you believe.  "In action" meant that its mouth opened and closed, not necessarily in sync with what you were hearing, and one of its arms went up and down.  I think the "exclusive interview" was one of the cavegirl attendants asking it questions as per a script and trying to time things so the pre-recorded voice of Alan Reed would sound like it was answering her questions.  I did not see it/him sing anything or change its/his expression.  And I don't recall getting a bubble gum cigar…or anything.  I would have liked something that was Flintstone-specific.

You may be wondering what became of this Fred Flintstone robot. I asked both Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera when I was working for them and neither knew what the hell I was talking about…a not uncommon situation during my employment at Hanna-Barbera. I just assumed it was long gone. Then one day a couple years ago, I was driving down La Brea Avenue and I passed this weird mostly-outdoor business at the corner of La Brea and 1st Street.

It's an old antique/prop place that sells a lot of things like old signs from fast food places and I believe a few years earlier, they were selling some of the set pieces used for games that The Price is Right no longer plays. They always had interesting goodies there but I never stopped to browse because I didn't have the time and I may have feared I'd find something expensive which I absolutely had to have but couldn't afford and had no room to display.

This one day, I spotted some sort of five-foot figure of Fred Flintstone which might have been the 1963 Flintstone robot I saw at the May Company. Might have been. It also might not have been.  I thought, "One of these days, I'll stop off and see if it's what I think it might be."  And then I forgot all about it and hunkered down for COVID, not going anywhere near La Brea and 1st.  One afternoon last week, I took that route down La Brea and not only is the Fred gone, the whole business is gone.  They're putting a new building up on that corner.

So that's all I know, which of  course isn't much.  Thanks, Hunter and Clark, for finding proof of what I remembered.  And if anyone ever comes across info on where that robot Flintstone is or was…well, it would be nice to know but I'm not spending a lot of time wondering about it.

Today's Video Link

I feel lately like posting fun, politics-free material on this site.  There are plenty of serious and sad issues out there and we can't make them go away…but I don't get much done in my day when I dwell on them too much.  This video is just fun to watch.

It's the finale of a Neil Diamond concert at the Greek Theater here in Los Angeles in 2012.  The keyboard player, who you don't see in this video, is probably my pal Tom Hensley.  The song, of course, is Mr. Diamond's "Sweet Caroline," which is one of the most beloved tunes of my (or anyone's) generation.  And I love watching how outrageously, wonderfully happy the audience is to be singing along with Neil.  It's just six and a half minutes of pure joy.

I don't care if you don't like the song.  Isn't it just pleasing to see so many people having such a good time?

My Friend Bugs

Back here on Easter Sunday, I flashed back to a memory from my childhood. The local chain of May Company department stores did a promotion with Bugs Bunny. You could call a special phone number they advertised — and you could dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial and dial nineteen more times to get through and hear a recorded message from Bugs Bunny telling you to come in to your nearest May Company where he'd have a special Easter gift for you and another message.

Dialing a phone number to hear a recorded message from anyone was a big deal when I was a wee laddie. That it was a message from was my dear and beloved friend Bugs Bunny was a special thrill. So I dialed and dialed and dialed and…well, you can read the whole story here and you probably already did.

When I posted the memory here the other day, I kinda hoped some reader of this site would dig up the newspaper ad for it and, sure enough, David Grudt did. He found this ad in The Los Angeles Times for Wednesday, April 6th, 1960 (when I was eight) and it apparently also ran the year earlier (when I was seven). I'm pretty sure I called in both years and that I got my parents to take me to the department store in '59.

Apparently, the downtown May Company — to which we did not go — also had a little display of "live easter animals."  I'm guessing two chickens, a baby goat and some kind of lamb.  That wouldn't have mattered to me.  I just wanted to get as up-close and personal with Bugs Bunny as I could.  (Possibly Interesting Fact: Twelve years later, I was writing the Bugs Bunny comic book.  And a decade or two after that, I was voice-directing Mel Blanc doing Bugs' voice for a TV special I wrote and co-produced.)

I also recalled a similar promotion with Fred Flintstone but David was unable to find anything in the online newspaper archives about that.  But thank you for what you did find, David.  And I must say that the phone number, which I dialed ad infinitum 63 years ago, looked awfully familiar.

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Today's Video Link

The Four Lads were a popular singing group that had their first hit in the early fifties and their last in the late sixties…though they stayed active for many years after that. Here, they sing the title song from my favorite movie. And they sing it in Japanese…

ASK me: Working With Kirby

Brian Dreger wrote to ask…

When you worked for Jack Kirby, it seems like you knew that he was this great artist (in terms of the legacy of comic books). But when you (and Steve Sherman) showed up to work on a day-to-day basis, and maybe you saw that he was creating some brand new character…was that really stunning? I guess what I'm asking is, did you realize that you were seeing something being created from scratch by someone important? Was it amazing? Or was it just, "Well, this is who I work for, this is what he does."

You have said that you had something to do with the colors of Miracle Man's costume. So at the time, was it thrilling that you might have been contributing to the next Captain America? I'm just curious because, I can't imagine being around a genius you know is a genius, and yet see him as just a nice, talented guy…and then go about your day-to-day job. It seems like it would be a constant "Pinch me, I'm dreaming" moment!

This is worded kind of stupid, but maybe you see my curiosity here.

The following is worded kind of stupid, Brian, but maybe you'll find my answer here. I met Jack Kirby when I was about seventeen years and four months old. He asked us (Steve and me) to become his assistants when I was just shy of eighteen. During that period — and I think this is true of most humans when they hit that age, everything in my life was changing…and when your life changes, you have a lot of "Pinch me, I'm dreaming" moments, especially if you recognize that dreaming can include the occasional nightmare.

I was well aware of what a unique, special ability it was to be around someone as gifted as Jack Kirby and if I hadn't been, I would have known because so many people told me so. In 1970, Steve and I took a trip back to New York where we visited the DC Comics offices, the Marvel Comics offices, the MAD magazine offices, Steve Ditko in his studio and a few other places before attending our first comic book convention. I met a staggering number of the people whose work I'd known and loved in comic books and with only a few exceptions (DC editorial folks), every one told us what a genius Jack was, how he'd created more wonderment than anyone else ever in comics, how fortunate we were to be around him, etc.

So I knew. And as I've gotten older and learned more about…well, about everything in the world, I'd like to think…my admiration for Jack has only grown. So I guess my answer to your question is that, yes, I knew I was around a man of great brilliance and accomplishment and with hindsight, that appreciation has only intensified.

Regarding "Miracle Man" — you're talking about Mister Miracle, actually — one of the many clashes Jack had with the DC staff was with the coloring folks who really weren't that fond of him or his work. The feeling was mutual. They fought him on every aspect of coloring on every character.

The only time he got his way was when he insisted on dumping the color scheme they came up with for Mister Miracle. I wrote about what Steve and I did back here.

No, neither of us thought we were contributing to the next Captain America or anything like that. We just thought we were being useful to Jack. We both would have done anything to please that wonderful man.

ASK me

Today's Video Link

More of The Muppets on The Ed Sullivan Show. I remember this one vividly from this performance and a few other places they did it. This was on Ed's show on November 27, 1966…

Comics For Ukraine – More Info

In the few hours since I reported that sales on the Comics For Ukraine benefit book had hit $13,222, sales have more than doubled to $28,761. And why not? What person who cares about humanity — or even, almost as important, good comics — would pass up a book with the following lineup of contributors?

Alex Ross, Arthur Adams, Dave Johnson, Bill Sienkiewicz, Brent Anderson, Sergio Aragonés, June Brigman, Kurt Busiek, Howard Chaykin, Joshua Dysart, Emil Ferris, Dave Gibbons, Pia Guerra, Rob Guillory, Peter Kuper, John Layman, Gabriel Rodriguez, Stan Sakai, Louise Simonson, Walter Simonson, Chris Sprouse, Jill Thompson, Matt Wagner, Mark Waid, Yours Truly and more.

You can order your copy or some affiliated merchandise over on this page.

One of the many reasons I'm excited about the project is that every cent of profit is being placed in the capable hands of my favorite charity, Operation USA, to direct to the points where it'll do the most good. You may have seen me write about Operation USA on this site and a little ad for it has always been in my right-hand margin here. It's the main place I send my money when I want to see it help people in need and I would remind you that you don't have to just buy the book to get funds to them. You can send them whatever you can spare right this minute. Here — I'll even give you a nice, clickable banner…

Today's Audio Link

The only silver lining I can come up with regarding the passing of Gilbert Gottfried is that the Internet is suddenly full of Gilbert clips. And if you're wondering what that man was really like, it is evident in the documentary about him, Gilbert. It's also in a podcast interview that Leonard and Jessie Maltin did with him back in 2017. Plus, you get to hear Gilbert and Leonard duet on the theme song from Car 54, Where Are You?

Comics For Ukraine

Announced this morning was Comics for Ukraine, a comic book anthology to help those whose lives have been devastated by the ongoing war in Ukraine. My buddy Scott Dunbier is assembling it and I'll let him tell you about it…

Among the many writers and artists contributing to this effort are Sergio Aragonés and myself. We're doing a new Groo story that will be included. You can see the whole list of contributors here and you can get your order in for a copy of this historic volume on this page. As I post this, orders have already been placed totaling $13,222 and we aren't even halfway through the first of thirty days when people can order.

But don't wait. Get your order in now. This is a book you'll be proud to own supporting a cause you'll be proud to support.

Today's Video Link

Two of my favorites — Bob and Ray visit David Letterman…

An Easter Memory

This ran here on April 8, 2012. That's long enough ago to run it again, don'tcha think?

Once upon a time, the May Company was the sacred place to shop in Los Angeles — especially the formidable outlet at the corner of Wilshire and Fairfax. It marked the west end of a strip of Wilshire full of department stores and that strip was known as the Miracle Mile. It's still called the Miracle Mile even though there isn't a single department store left there. Orbach's is gone. Harris & Frank is gone. Desmond's is gone. Mullen & Bluett is gone and so on. The May Company's lovely building is still there but inside it now is some sort of off-shoot of the L.A. County Museum of Art which is next door.

This memory takes place back when it was still the May Company, inside and out. For two or three years running, they did a special Easter promotion involving Bugs Bunny. Ads would appear giving a special phone number that kids could call to "talk to Bugs Bunny." Well, naturally, I had to call. I think I was six or seven the first time this happened but I knew how to dial a phone. And note that I said "dial," as in running one's finger around on one of these:

phonedial01

So I dialed and got a busy signal. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Isn't "cut-and-paste" wonderful? Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again. Then I dialed and got a busy signal again.

And finally, it rang. And Bugs picked up.

Well, it wasn't Bugs, of course. Even I knew then it was Mel Blanc. But it also wasn't Mel Blanc. It was the recorded voice of Mel Blanc. But even that was exciting. In later years, it would be no big deal to call some number and hear a recorded announcement. Heck, there would be times when it would be a novelty to dial a number — any number — and not get a recorded announcement. But at the time, this kind of thing was kinda rare…and the fact that it was a cartoon character was very special.

I remember the first thing he said. It was, you may be surprised to hear, "What's up, doc?" And I remember the last thing he said. It was an admonition that I should hang up now so that someone else could get through. In-between, there was a pitch to get my parents to take me to the May Company at Wilshire and Fairfax where Bugs would have a special gift for me and a special, personal message. Well, you can guess where we were going…the next day, in fact. This was a few days before Easter.

That night, I was lying wide awake in bed, as I often did. I didn't sleep much as a kid. I would lie there half the night it seemed, making up incredible stories involving cartoons and characters I saw on TV or read in comic books. They were all about my phone buddy Bugs Bunny that night and I suddenly got the idea that I'd like to hear his message again…and also, I was curious. Was there just the one message or were there several and they rotated? And what would have happened if I hadn't hung up immediately? Would the message have repeated? Would Bugs have said something else?

I checked the clock by my bed at it said it was 4:10 in the morning. I had a hunch the phone might not be quite as busy at 4:10 in the morning.

So as not to awake my parents, I crept carefully out to the kitchen, which is where our only phone was. From all that dialing earlier, I had the number memorized so I called, worrying slightly that Bugs would answer and say angrily, "Hey, didn't you call earlier, kid?"  Or maybe, "What the big idea, waking me up at this hour?"

I got a busy signal. At 4-friggin'-11 in the morning. Someone else obviously had the same idea.

I put some peanut butter on a cracker, ate it and then dialed again. This time, I got through and heard the exact same message I'd heard earlier. At the end, when Bugs said to hang up so someone else could call, I risked him getting mad at me and didn't. And I heard…absolutely nothing. After about a minute, I hung up and went back to bed.

The next day, we went to the May Company. Near the center of the top floor, there was a huge display with big cut-outs of Bugs and Elmer Fudd and Porky Pig and other Warner Brothers characters. The phone message had made it sound like I could actually meet Bugs Bunny there and while I knew that wasn't possible, I figured there'd be something like a guy in a Bugs Bunny suit or a big robot or — and I knew this was a longshot but you tend to dream at that age — maybe they'd have Mel Blanc there.

They didn't. There were two cute young girls dressed in bunny ears and tails. This was a year or two before the Playboy Clubs opened with waitresses in bunny ears and tails and I always wondered if Hugh Hefner or someone working for him drew any inspiration from Bugs' helpers at the May Company. Probably not but you never know.

One gave me a little Bugs Bunny coloring book with a bag of crayons and candy attached. The other was in charge of a telephone on a pedestal. She held out the receiver for me and I took it and heard another message Mel Blanc had recorded. It was something about how he was sorry he was so busy he couldn't be there in person but you know, "us rabbits" are pretty busy just before Easter, painting eggs and figuring out where to hide 'em. He told me to be a good little kid and eat all my carrots and to make sure his helpers gave me his special Easter gift. And then he hung up on me and his assistant yanked the receiver from my grasp.

I didn't feel cheated by this since I'd known going in I wasn't going to really meet Bugs Bunny. I remember being rather thrilled to have gotten that close to him. And then my parents went shopping.

That's about everything I remember about the Bugs Bunny promotion. I'm going to guess they did it the first time in 1958 or 1959 when I was six or seven. If I had to bet, I'd bet the latter. I know they did it at least one following year, maybe two. Same ad in the paper, same message on the phone. We only went to the May Company in response that one time, presuming that since the phone message was the same, the pay-off when you got to the store would be the same. In 1961 or so, they did the same deal with Fred Flintstone, even though, having lived before Christ, his connection to Easter was at best tenuous. A recording by his voice Alan Reed was on the phone and when you went to the May Company, they had two cute ladies in ratty cave girl outfits filling the same function as the bunnies.

What they did have, I think in lieu of a phone message, was a robotic Fred Flintstone. It was a very good likeness about five feet high. His mouth opened and closed, not particularly in sync with a constantly repeating voice recording — Fred welcoming us to the May Company and wishing us Happy Easter. His right arm went up and down. My mother took a photo of me next to him but, damn it, the pictures didn't come out. A day or two later, they trucked the Robot Fred over to the local ABC studios and I saw it "perform" on the morning cartoon show hosted by Chucko the Birthday Clown. The voice didn't work and the moving arm kept stopping and starting, and Chucko (who was a pretty funny guy) kept warning Fred that if he didn't talk, ABC would cancel his prime-time show. I assume that robot is long since gone but I'd give about a year's pay to have it in my living room.

This has been an Easter Memory…and just about the only one this Jewish kid has from his childhood.


P.S., Added in 2022: Wondering what became of that beautiful building that housed the May Company department store? Well, it's still there and it's still beautiful. But it's now the Museum of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences…