When the planes hit on 9/11, Michael Moore's new book, Stupid White Men, was all printed.  As it was a scathing onslaught on the morals of George W. Bush and his associates, that did not seem like a grand time to release it.  His publisher spoke of pulping the press run and either forgetting the whole matter or, if Moore was amenable to a rewrite, issuing a much toned-down version.  Moore was not amenable and, after much yelling and probably some threats, the book is now out in its original form.

I haven't read it yet but even if it's wildly off-base, inaccurate and foolish, it could do a lot of damage to George W. Bush, his administration and all that his supporters hope he achieves.  Why?  Because, as I write this, Stupid White Men is number one on both the Amazon.Com and Barnes & Noble best seller lists.  As Moore is just beginning a major book tour, it will probably reside on or about the top of the sales charts for a while.

I am not suggesting that anything Moore wrote or that he might say on talk shows will change a lot of minds.  America doesn't work that way.  Still, he may accomplish two things that could cause Bush & Co. a load of grief.  One is that he may make it, if not fashionable then at least not as unconscionable to attack the President.  A lot of folks who might be slamming Bush have been laying low, lest they be accused of treason, and this may give them the courage to speak out.  And the other thing Moore's book may accomplish is to demonstrate that a person can step up to big pay in the fast-paced world of Bush-bashing.

I'm going to show my cynical side here: I think we overlook how much of our public discourse is in the hands of pundits and columnists who have two priorities and, often, the one that advances liberal or conservative causes is not, to them, the more important of the two.  The other is personal fame and fortune.  They say what gets them on TV and makes money.  I don't mean they don't believe what their shpiels — though a few sure seem like they'd renounce every position they hold for the right price.  Arianna Huffington, for instance, seems to have found the competition among attractive conservative women too fierce and decided to stake out her turf in liberal country.

No, I mean even the pundits who earnestly hold the convictions they voice have learned that it's good business to be relentless and even to exaggerate those convictions.  It sure works for Talk Radio hosts.  (And I dunno…if you found that espousing some opinion made you rich and famous and caused audiences to cheer you, might you not tend to become more convinced of it?)

Early in the Clinton Administration, several publishers and pundits discovered that there was moola to be made from attacks on Bill and Hillary.  Even when Clinton had his 78% approval rating, the remaining 22% of America was willing to shell out serious coin for books that said Slick Willy had been running drugs and having people murdered while he was busily boffing trollops in the Lincoln bedroom.  There was — and in some circles, still is — a hatred out there that liked to hear that William Jefferson Clinton was the Anti-Christ, and some didn't even seem to care if the charges were dubious or disproven.  I was genuinely disappointed when Peggy Noonan — someone I'd kinda admired — wrote her anti-Hillary screed.  It was kind of like, "I don't have anything of substance to say about Hillary Clinton but I can't miss this chance to get a book on the Best Seller list."

Michael Moore may or may not have anything of substance to say about the current Oval Office occupant.  That may not matter.  What does matter is that Michael Moore is atop the Best Seller list.  If he's there a while, a lot of someones will decide — if they haven't, already — that Bush-hating may be even more lucrative than Clinton-hating.  And of course, the books don't even have to be true.  They just have to be vaguely credible to those who already hate the guy.  Clinton was vulnerable because of all the rumors of his womanizing and sleazy business deals.  Bush is vulnerable because of all the rumors of his drug use and sleazier business dealings.  The latter may make excellent fodder for further best sellers as more corporations go the way of Enron and the public loathing for the Ken Lays of the world intensifies.  Whether it's valid or not — and nowhere here am I suggesting it is or isn't — it will not be hard to whip up volumes that portray our current Prez (and even his father and Veep) as having habitually made millions off business deals where everyone else got screwed.

I said here before that I didn't think Enron would directly hurt Bush.  I don't believe anyone will ever draw a connection of the "smoking gun" variety between him and any illegal actions.  On the other hand, he will never shake the association with corporate rape.  And Moore's book will spawn others…because he's proving that there's money in proclaiming the scandals of the Bush Administration.  And the buying public always gets what it wants…

One more thought about Chuck Jones: One would have expected the tributes and regrets that are now filling the animation-oriented sectors of the Internet.  What is even more amazing — and indicative of his influence — is the mourning taking place in forums that have nothing to do with cartoons or comics.  On political chat boards, sports newsgroups, discussion groups of all subjects, one finds an outpouring of respect and people outside the cartoon community writing of their sense of loss.  I suspect those of us who thought of Chuck just for what he did for animation vastly underestimated his impact on American popular culture.  He left his fingerprints on an entire generation or three…

One of the nation's most popular radio personalities, Paul Harris, broadcasts his popular program out of St. Louis on "The Big 550, KTRS."  His glorious tradition of interviewing the best and the brightest ends on Monday, 2/25, when the operator of this website joins him for a chat about the legacy of Chuck Jones.  It oughta happen around 1:30 in the afternoon, Central Time.  You can find out more about Mr. Harris's program at www.HarrisOnline.com.  (There's a link there to listen online but I never have much luck with those…)

Maybe I'm dense…no, no "maybe."  I am dense.  But that's not the reason I don't understand something rather basic about Internet Behavior.  The other day on a public discussion board, my name came up.  Someone forwarded me a message posted there where a person wrote, "I'd ask Mark Evanier but I don't know his e-mail address."

How can someone not find my e-mail address?  Even if it didn't dawn on them to try www.evanier.com (which forwards to this site, which has an e-mail link on every page), we have these things on the Internet called Search Engines.  I just went to ten of them, typed in "Evanier" and every one linked me to this site in under five seconds and three of them yielded my e-mail address instantly.  In the time it took that person to type that he didn't know my e-mail address, he could have found my e-mail address six times.

It's not just info about me.  All the time on public boards and newsgroups, I see questions that could be answered in under 30 seconds with a quick trip to www.google.com or any of several other popular Search Engines. The Internet is a terrific resource for looking up info.  I continue to be amazed at what I can find on-line and often with very little burrowing.  But you do have to look, at least a little.  It's not enough to just post questions and hope someone will tell you the answers.

One of the world's greatest animation directors, Charles M. "Chuck" Jones died this afternoon.  It hasn't made the wire services at this moment but any minute now, they'll erupt with the sad news.  Someone once wrote that if all Chuck Jones had ever given us was What's Opera, Doc? and One Froggy Evening, he would still be hailed as one of the greats.  It's very easy to forget — and watch the obits and see if this isn't the case — how truly staggering was this man's lifetime output.  He was born in 1912 and started as a lowly cel washer (the rock bottom job in the biz at the time) in 1932, working for Ub Iwerks.  In 1936, he became a junior, apprentice animator at Leon Schlesinger's cartoon studio (aka Warner Brothers) and, just two years later, directed his first cartoon, The Night Watchman.

Before long, he was among the architects of the legendary Warner Brothers cartoon style, supervising some of the exploits of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, as well as several series that were all his…most notably, Pepe LePew and the legendary Road Runner and Coyote.

When theatrical animation died out, he segued to television where his output was more varied, but still hit occasional heights with specials like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.  The last few years, he had supervised several animation projects and done a lot in the field of limited edition cels.

This is only a short overview.  In the days and weeks to come, I'm sure we'll hear and see tons of specials, articles, obits and tributes to the man.  And you know what?  They still probably won't list all that he did.

Tom Galloway calls my (and, therefore, your) attention to this short-but-sweet article in USA Today.  It's about the Silent Movie Theatre, which is also the subject of this article on this site.  I've never met Charlie Lustman, the entrepreneur who saved the place from oblivion and is, apparently, making a go of it, but I am grateful to him for the effort.  He's a hero.  I would question though his quote in the article that, "Buster [Keaton] was the most original of all.  He never repeated a gag once in his career."  This is a minor point but it's an excuse for me to suggest that we oughta all badger Sony to release Keaton's sound shorts — assuming they own them — on home video.  Talk about repeating old gags.  The films aren't vintage Keaton but, hey, what is?

Some are a bit sad, especially when they recycle his old routines with increasingly-unfunny results.  But most are well worth watching and a few, like Grand Slam Opera, are quite enjoyable.  And while we're wishing, I wish someone would put out some good copies of The Buster Keaton Show — the one he did for TV, the one where he labored in a sporting goods shop.  Again, it's sometimes uncomfy to see him reusing old bits, but the genius was always evident, at least in the background, and sometimes it took center stage.  (Keaton also did a live show for TV, only a few bad kinescopes of which seem to exist…but I think all the episodes of the film show are still in existence.  I have one or two on tape and can't imagine that there wouldn't be a market for them.)

The prolific author Stephen Longstreet has passed away at the age of 94.  (Here's a link to an obit.)  But that's not a picture of him…that's Phil Silvers.  Long before Bilko, long before Silvers was a major star, he headlined a Broadway show called High Button Shoes, the book of which was sort of written by Mr. Longstreet.  That is, Longstreet penned the script and then — if we believe the legend — he departed, leaving others to revise it during its out-of-town try-outs.  Legend further has it that those try-outs were so disastrous that other hands — mostly Silvers and lyricist Sammy Cahn — wound up changing every word of the book.  In any case, High Button Shoes was a considerable success, and Silvers believed he was the reason.  He was therefore miffed, after the show opened, to read items that kept turning up in the gossip columns about a planned movie version.

The first one said, "Author Stephen Longstreet is in talks with Danny Kaye to star in the movie of his Broadway smash, High Button Shoes."  The next said, "Author Stephen Longstreet says he expects Red Skelton to star in the movie of his Broadway hit, High Button Shoes."  The next said, "Stephen Longstreet reports that Ray Bolger is close to signing to star in the motion picture version of High Button Shoes."  It was when he read the Bolger one that Silvers lost his temper and, from his dressing room on Broadway, dispatched a telegram to Longstreet, who was out here in Hollywood.  It said:

IF I READ ONE MORE ITEM ABOUT WHO'S PLAYING MY ROLE IN A MOVIE OF HIGH BUTTON SHOES, I WILL START PLAYING THIS SHOW EXACTLY AS YOU WROTE IT.

The press items stopped.

The first 24 issues of MAD Comics — it became MAD Magazine with #25 — have to be the most-reprinted comic books in history.  I must have at least ten copies of the best stories and six or seven of the worst.  That's not even counting the fact that I own them all in their original printings…a revelation that probably causes you to wonder why then, I buy all the reprints.  It's because I am a monumental chowderhead, that's why.  (Didn't think I had a good reason, did you?)  Anyway, the first time any of that material was reissued was in a series of Ballantine paperbacks that came out in the fifties.  They were black-and-white and the pages were chopped up and printed sideways, one third of a comic book page to each paperback page.

It was a helluva thing to do to such wonderful material but, somehow, it didn't matter to those of us who discovered the golden wit of the seminal MAD in this venue.

It threw me at first.  I'd started reading MAD with #70, by which time it had evolved far from the comic book issues edited and written by Harvey Kurtzman.  I picked up the first paperbacks, which were then in print, expecting the kind of stuff being done in the current magazine — Spy Vs. Spy, Don Martin, movie parodies, etc.  When I didn't get it, I felt swindled…but when you're that age, you tend to think, "I paid for it, I'm going to read it."  So I read it, "it" being the very first one issued, The Mad Reader.  And I loved it.

As noted, I have all those stories in many color editions, with the pages intact and rightside-up.  Still, there's something wonderfully nostalgic and even historic about those old paperbacks.  I just thumbed through my first edition of The Mad Reader and vividly recalled where I was when I read it.  Like the Grinch's heart, my sense of humor grew three sizes that day.

If you just want to read Kurtzman at his best (abetted by Will Elder, Wally Wood, Jack Davis and John Severin), there are other reprintings you should seek out…including DC's forthcoming Mad Library editions in hardcover and vivid color.  But if you wax melancholy for those old paperbacks, you can order reissues of the first two over at Amazon.  They are The Mad Reader and Mad Strikes Back, and clicking on their names will whisk you over there to order them and give us a tiny cut.  And do beware of the Potrzebie.

A friend sent me this picture of a famous (in Broadway lore) full-page ad that ran only once and only in one edition of The New York Herald-Tribune.  Wanna hear the story behind it?  Good.  In 1961, the notorious Broadway producer David Merrick had a musical called Subways Are For Sleeping that was limping along at the box office, losing business and about to warrant closure.  One reason was that the seven major Broadway critics had been indifferent — some, outright negative — about it.  So, if only to cause trouble, Mr. Merrick had his staff dig up seven men with the same names as the seven critics. He brought the men in to see the show, wined and dined them, and secured permission to use their names and photos along with quotes about how much they enjoyed what they'd seen.

An ad was prepared and submitted to all seven newspapers…and it would have gotten into all seven, some say, had not a copy editor at one of the papers spotted the hoax just moments before press time.  (The tip-off?  The photo of Richard Watts.  The theatre critic with that name was not black.)  The alert copy editor phoned all the newspapers in town and they all pulled it…except that the early edition of the Herald-Tribune was already on the streets.  No matter.  Merrick secured what he wanted, which was an enormous amount of publicity.  The grosses on Subways took an enormous leap upwards and, while the show was never a huge hit, it managed to last out the season and turn a modest profit.

It was a brilliant publicity stunt…and one that Merrick had wanted to do since the idea occurred to him years earlier.  What stopped him was that, back then, the critic for The New York Times was Brooks Atkinson…and Merrick couldn't find anyone else with that name.  When Atkinson retired, he was replaced by Howard Taubman…and there was an insurance agent named Howard Taubman.

Some called Merrick "The Abominable Showman" and there are those who worked with him who still get migraines at the mention of his name.  I don't doubt that all or most of their tales are true…but I do think this ad was a stroke of genius.  They don't make them like David Merrick any longer…which is both good and bad.

Everyone on the Internet is sending me the following info, so I might as well post it here:

Here is a useless but curious piece of information.  Today, at 8:02 PM, something will happen that will not happen again for 110 years. For one minute, it will be 20:02, 20/02, 2002.  You will have to wait until 21:12, 21/12, 2112 to see anything like this again: December 21, 2112, at 9:12 PM.

Reminds me of how MAD Magazine once pointed out that 1961 was an upside-down year…the first year that read the same upside-down as rightside-up since 1881 and the last until 6009.

Last week, we raved about the legendary voice demos of Paul Frees and posted a link to a site where you could hear one.  Well, just our luck: That link's server has been shut down.  So I've uploaded an MP3 file of a different Frees demo to my site's server.  Depending on which browser you're using and what audio programs you have installed, you should be able to listen to it and/or download it by clicking on the link below.  Warning: This file is almost 6MB and it runs for five minutes. So, if you're on a dial-up connection, I wouldn't chance it.

Great example last night on Game Show Network of why Garry Moore was maybe the best TV host ever, at least for that kind of show.  The rerun was I've Got A Secret for January 14, 1959, back when the show was broadcast live.  The second guest was a gent named Jack Mosely (sp?) whose secret was that using only his own lung power, he could inflate an inner tube until it burst.  Naturally, he had to demonstrate this…but when he did, it took a lot longer than usual.  Long past the allotted time for the stunt, Jack was still blowing into the thing, which had expanded to the point where it seemed ready to explode…but didn't.

On and on he went, with the audience getting hysterical — and, even on a black-and-white telecast, you could see that Mosely was turning eleven shades of fuchsia.  Through it all, Moore kept up a witty, unscripted running commentary and resisted the shouts of his producer to cut the spot off.  Special Guest Andy Griffith was still to follow but obviously, Moore reasoned that they had to play the act out to its pay-off.  I suspect he thought — no doubt, correctly — "Not one person in America's going to change channels until that tube goes kablooey!"  Instead, when a commercial became mandatory, Moore had Mosely pause and then, following the break, the inner tube inflation resumed, now with Andy G. joining Garry to do play-by-play.  The tire finally went bang, knocking Mosely on his ass and prompting an incredible audience ovation.  They never got to Griffith's "secret" but so what?  It was good, fun live television…and honest.

Silly stuff, of course.  But I couldn't help think that it would never happen on a TV show today…and I'm not even certain there's a host who could properly ad-lib and cope with all that spontaneity.  It isn't just that we rely too much on precisely-edited videotape.  It's that the star and format have to be protected at all times.  They have to know exactly what's going to happen and have lines prepped for when it happens…and if it doesn't happen that way, they stop tape or edit.  Even on a live program — say, an awards ceremony — any chance of surprise is kept to an utter minimum.  Maybe the mania some folks have for watching live, televised police chases is because it's such a novelty to view something other than sports on TV where fate, as opposed to a producer, is in control.  With all the "reality" shows around, it's only a matter of time before it dawns on someone that real, effective reality begins with allowing the unexpected to occur.

Have we reached the end of the great publishing practice of MAD Magazine knock-offs?  Since Bill Gaines's silly periodical began cleaning up on newsstands fifty years ago, rival publishers have been whipping up knock-offs with names like Sick, Blast, Crazy, Up Your Nose, The National Review, etc.  (Okay, forget The National Review.  It hasn't been funny in years.)  But most of the others were…some for a long time, some for a few issues.  My favorite of them was Sick, especially in the first issues edited by Joe Simon and written (mostly) by Dee Caruso…but the longest-running of them all was Cracked, which started in 1958 and endured into the new century without, insofar as I could see, ever developing a viewpoint or style of its own. At times, it looked like MAD's refugee camp, employing folks who were on the "outs" with Gaines.

Among many examples: The cover at upper right is from Cracked #10 and was painted by Will Elder…and for a long time, Cracked's lead artist was John Severin, who dated back to MAD #1.  When "MAD's Maddest Artist," Don Martin, went away mad in a contract dispute, he found a home in Cracked.  So did former MAD associate editor Jerry DeFuccio and one of MAD's most prolific writers, Lou Silverstone, who was an editor at Cracked for a time.  (A number of MAD scribes considered it a dandy place to sell their rejects, often employing pen names.)

Cracked did, however, demonstrate enormous endurance.  Rumor has it that this was because its publisher was in tight with a powerful distributor.  Indeed, the magazine managed some incredible feats of penetration, even getting into that most coveted of outlets, airport gift shops.  Last year at this time, it was the last surviving MAD doppelganger…but it's gone through a change of owners and some rough times.  At last report, it had been more than six months since an issue materialized, though the publisher is telling contributors that this is a temporary condition and that they will also receive money they have long been owed.  I hope so…but the two likeliest indicators of Death in magazine publishing are a suspension of publication and not paying your contributors.  If it's history, it will be a sad end to a glorious tradition.

This evening at 11:30 PM, KFTR — a Spanish language TV station based in Los Angeles and broadcasting on Channel 46 — is running How to Frame a Figg, the 1971 movie in which you co-starred with Don Knotts.  Let's see how you like being dubbed for a change.

As mentioned here recently, Dark Horse Comics is issuing a wonderful series called Classic Comic Characters.  Each month, you can buy a couple new figurines of the players from some famous newspaper strip.  (A good, honest place to order them is www.budplant.com.)  The little statues are issued in limited editions and a few months ago, they came out with Albert the Alligator, reptilian star of Walt Kelly's immortal Pogo.  In June, you'll be able to purchase Pogo Possum, hisself.  The pic at left was taken last evening on my breakfast table, placing the Pogo prototype alongside a finished Albert.  Don't they look great together?

This is because of the expert sculpture work done by the folks at Yoe! Studios but also because these were supervised by my best friend — and another of Walt's great creations — Carolyn Kelly.

I love it when a piece of merchandise perfectly captures the way a character oughta look.  Back in my Hanna-Barbera days, I lived in a state of perpetual argument with certain folks in the marketing division who didn't seem to know what Yogi Bear and Fred Flintstone looked like…or, if they did, they didn't care if the toys and t-shirts and lunch boxes matched up.  One of the joys of working for years with Jim Davis on Garfield was that it didn't matter to Jim how much it cost, the cat was going to look right.  I once saw him kill, without flinching, a $100,000+ deal because the manufacturer couldn't get the lasagna-loving feline to look the way he oughta.  Carolyn has been no less strident about getting her father's characters the way he drew them.  Would that more people who were in charge of great characters were as diligent and knowledgeable.