Ode to the little brown Chic Sale out back

'Chic' Sale...and 'Chic' Sale

You never really get a handle on how gosh-darned huge the Internets are until you use The Google to research the career of Charles Partlow ‘Chic” Sale (1885-1936), a vaudevillian who began his film career in the silent era…and might be recognizable to fans of The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ for appearances in such features as Stranger in Town (1931), Men of America (1932), and Treasure Island (1934).  Sale frequently performed in old-age makeup that gave the illusion he was a grizzled old codger (I’m quite fond of his performance in 1931’s The Star Witness, in which he plays a cantankerous Civil War veteran who comes to the aid of his family when they’re threatened by mobsters) when he was really only in his mid-forties; Chic died far too young at the age of 51 from pneumonia, his last movie appearance being a small role in one of my favorite films directed by Fritz Lang, You Only Live Once (1937).

But back to that “how vast is the World Wide Web?” thing.  There is a website devoted to Chic: chicsale.net.  There you can buy a copy of his main claim to fame: a 1929 publication entitled The Specialist.  You see, Chic created a fictional character in “Lem Putt”—based on a man he knew in his former stomping grounds of Urbana, Illinois—whose occupation was the construction of privies (outhouses).  It began as a monologue that Chic would perform at Rotary gatherings, and when the material became well-received by audiences Sale decided to incorporate it into his stage act.  Because vaudeville was notorious for having comics “liberate” material from their fellow funsters (*cough* Milton Berle *cough*), Charles Sale decided to publish the material in book form in 1929 so it would be protected by copyright.  The book became a best seller, and a follow-up that Sale penned, I’ll Tell You Why, was also warmly received by the book-buying public.  You can purchase both books at the site, by the way; according to the site The Specialist is “now in its 26th printing, it has sold over 2,600,000 copies worldwide.  It has been translated into 9 languages and published in 12 countries.”

Sale in A Slip at the Switch

The Specialist inspired Lem Putt, the Specialist (1930)—one of six two-reel comedies available on the latest release by Alpha Video of their Ultra-Rare Pre-Code Comedies series (Volume 3).  You could say, in a small way, that Chic Sale is the star of this collection because another one of his two-reelers, A Slip at the Switch (1932), is also in this collection.  (For reasons that have me bamfoozled, neither of these shorts are listed in Sale’s filmography at the [always reliable] IMDb.)  Switch is a diverting little romp that casts Sale (his character is named “Lem”—but I don’t know if his outhouse salesman got a promotion or not) as a station agent who tangles with a pair of tramps (Bud Jamison, Charlie Hall) who have robbed him.  Monte Collins is also in this one (as a telegraph operator), which helps a lot; the entire concoction was directed by Mark Sandrich, who would later go on to helm many of the Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers musicals: Top Hat (1935), Follow the Fleet (1936), etc.  (Sandrich also held the reins on two of the best Wheeler & Woolsey films, Hips, Hips, Hooray! [1934] and Cockeyed Cavaliers [1934], not to mention one of my favorite Jack Benny vehicles, Buck Benny Rides Again [1940].)  Sandrich also died young, succumbing to a heart attack at the age of 43 in 1945.

Switch is a lot more entertaining than Specialist, to be brutally honest.  Having someone talk about the fine art of building privies isn’t truly all that funny to me, and it’s a static presentation to begin with—it might have helped if they had done Sale’s “talk” as a one-reeler…but believe you me, he’s no Robert Benchley.  While The Specialist proved to be a positive boon to the comedian’s career, Chic wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the fact that his name—“Chic Sale”—was often used as shorthand for “outhouse.”  (That should explain the joke in this header, a reference to my fellow Appalachian highlander Billy Edd Wheeler song smash which hit #3 on the country music charts in 1964.)

Harry Sweet & Monte Collins (in tub) in Just a Pain in the Parlor

The funniest short on Ultra-Rare Pre-Code Comedies, Volume 3 is Just a Pain in the Parlor (1932), a very sprightly two-reeler starring Harry Sweet.  Who is Harry Sweet and what does he do when he’s not tending bar, I hear you ask.  Sweet was a writer-director-performer—whose career also got started in the silent era—who played a large role in the establishment of RKO’s shorts department.  He instigated the Edgar Kennedy “Mr. Average Man” series, and supervised comedies starring Clark & McCullough…but at the risk of starting a noticeable pattern in this post, Harry is another name on the “much too soon” list, perishing in a plane crash in 1933 at the age of 31.  Parlor is a delight, as Sweet plays an Olympic athlete who’s “adopted” by a man named Smith (James Donlan), fearful that Mrs. Smith (Cecil Cunningham) is going to strenuously object.  Told by one of his fellow athletes that being invited to Casa del Smith is a ruse to get him to break training, Harry puts up quite a fuss when the Smith’s butler, Collins (Monte again!), tries to prepare him for presentation before Mrs. Smith and her party guests.  Monte gets an assist helping Sweet into the bathtub from no less than four sub-butlers (including Charlie Hall and Irving Bacon)—a hilarious scene—while violinist Billy Gilbert attempts to keep his cool during his recital.  Having Vernon Dent make an appearance as the speaker who urges the adoption of the athletes is the cherry on top of the sundae; the whole concoction was directed by George Marshall.

Benny Rubin

Benny Rubin, who was present and accounted for the previous Ultra-Rare Pre-Code Comedies release (Volume 2), also makes an appearance in Julius Sizzer (1931)—a gangster parody that lets Rubin tackle two roles, brothers Julius and Liddle Sizzer.  (That’s the caliber of the material, friends and neighbors—and what’s more, both brothers converse in heavy Yiddish accents.)  Someone at the (always reliable) IMDb wasn’t too fond of this one, but even though I thought The Messenger Boy (1931, from Volume 2) funnier I’d be lying if I didn’t snicker once or twice during Sizzer (I have a fascination with dialect humor).  I have a handicap in that I give Benny more leeway because I always enjoyed him on The Jack Benny Program (one of his great bits was playing the “Information” clerk who’d always answer Jack’s questions with “I dunno!”).  In fact, I watched The Shaggy D.A. (1976) the other night (it was on BYU-TV, of all places) and giggled when I saw Rubin as a waiter who gets plastered with cherry pies.  (Go on.  Shame me.  I deserve it.)

If not for the presence of Lem Putt, the Specialist, Fifty Miles from Broadway (1929) might give it some competition in the “worst short in this collection” department; it’s an early talkie that looks as if someone pointed a camera at a dinner theatre production, with the impending marriage of a boy and girl threatened by their fathers’ ongoing feud.  The remaining short on this set is A Night in a Dormitory (1930—spoiler warning: it’s mostly set in a nightclub), which boasts one of Ginger Rogers’ earliest movie appearances as she sings Why Can’t You Love That Way? and I Love a Man in Uniform in Helen Kane-fashion, and features Si Wills (billed as Morgan Morly) and Eddie Elkins doing jokes in a routine that might have made Abbott & Costello wonder out loud: “I don’t know about these jokes, fellas…”  (Wills would later marry and write material for his more famous wife, Joan Davis.)  Dormitory is worth the watch to see the young Ginger, and overall the material on Ultra-Rare Pre-Code Comedies, Volume 3 is a must-own for those folks (like me) who have a thing for offbeat two-reelers.

B-Western Wednesdays: Partners of the Sunset (1948)

Rancher Bill Thompson (Steve Darrell) returns from a business trip to Tucson…and boy, does he have some swell news for his son Dan (Jay Kirby)!  Janice (Christine Larson), the pretty little gal at his side, is now his new mom…and no one should be surprised that Dan takes this bulletin with all the enthusiasm of a proctology exam.  It’s mostly due to Janice being old enough to be his younger sister, but that don’t make no never mind to Bill: they’re married, and if Dan doesn’t like it he can lump it.

Dan doesn’t like it, and so he vamooses from the ranch—bitter about the fact that his pop has reneged on his promise to bequeath him some of the horses they raise on their spread.  Ranch foreman Jimmy Wakely (himself) and chief-cook-and-bottle-washer “Cannonball” (Dub Taylor) ride into town in an attempt to patch things up between father and son.  Actively working against this reunion is stepmother Janice, who’s really a conniving little rhymes-with-witch out to take Bill’s fortune.  She’s assisted in this endeavor by her brother Les (Leonard Penn) …who isn’t her brother at all!  (Quel plot twist!)  The scheming pair cleverly frame Dan for his father’s murder, and it’s Jimmy (once again) to the rescue.

The fifty-three-minute length of Partners of the Sunset (1948)—and if you can figure out how that title connects with the plot of this movie, the phone lines are open—makes it just slightly longer than your run-of-the-mill episode of a typical TV western.  This doesn’t make it a terrible movie, you understand—it’s just that the overall presentation covers a lot of all-too-familiar territory.  Boyd Magers at Western Clippings gives this Jimmy Wakely programmer two stars, which seems about right…maybe I would bump it up half-a-star.  It’s painless to take, and Jimmy sings a couple of nice up-tempo ditties in It’s a Beautiful Day (Wakely sings and curries his horse as his bandmates accompany him on fiddle, guitar, and steel guitar—the way country music should be) and Press Along to the Big Corral.

The pluses in Sunset include a very good performance from Christine Larson, who’s a cut-above your usual B-Western ingénue—particularly when she’s fluctuating back-and-forth between sweet-as-apple-pie wifey and wicked stepmother.  She’s joined in her villainy by Leonard Penn (as Les, the “brother” who has difficulty keeping his hands off his sis), and between the two of them they are ruthless in their intentions to make sure Dan swings for fratricide (Les is really responsible for the vile deed, hitting Bill with one of those figurines that folks used to keep around the house for just such occasions).

You also can’t go wrong with having Dub Taylor as your sidekick if you find yourself in the occupation of singing cowboy; there’s a running gag throughout Sunset where “Cannonball” is desperately trying to catch an elusive fish (“Ol’ Smokey”) that will produce a stray chuckle or two, and Cannonball also gets some funny lines. (Jimmy: “What’s with the funny look?” Cannonball: “I always look this way!”)  The rest of the cast is dependable if not remarkable; the only name I recognized other than Wakely’s and Taylor’s was Marshall Reed, who was a regular on TV’s The Lineup (a.k.a. San Francisco Beat).  Marsh plays a bad hombre who agrees to help young Dan swipe those horses from his pa’s ranch, and winds up in a well-shot saloon donnybrook with Jimmy (well…more like Jimmy’s stuntman, Bob Woodward).  (Reed’s character connects right on Wakely’s button in one scene, which made me laugh out loud.)

Directed by master journeyman Lambert Hillyer (who helmed a previous Wakely vehicle covered in this space, 1949’s Gun Law Justice) and scripted by B-Western veteran J. Benton Cheney (I see Cheney’s credit on a lot of episodes of The Cisco Kid before I watch those Trackdown episodes I DVR off of Heroes & Icons), Partners of the Sunset is little more than a passable time-killer from one of the silver screen’s most engaging sagebrush presences...but that don’t make it all bad, as a cowpoke once explained to me.  It’s on DVD, available for purchase or rent on the Warner Archive MOD set Monogram Cowboy Collection: Volume 1.

Forgotten Noir Fridays: Arson, Inc. (1949)

L.A. fireman Joe Martin (Robert Lowery) has demonstrated he’s got a little moxie on the ball when he rescues some cheap furs (rabbit, etc.) from a fire at a wholesale furriers’—only the furs retrieved from the blaze don’t match the more expensive pelts listed on the insurance claim.  An investigator from the arson detail has already been murdered during the fire department’s inquiry, so Joe is pressed into action to look into the matter.  Martin stops by the residence of the owner of the store, Thomas Peyson (Byron Foulger), to conduct some questioning—and is informed by schoolteacher Jane Jennings (Anne Gwynne) that the Peysons are out for the evening (she’s babysitting Junior Peyson).  When Mr. and Mrs. P get back from nightclubbing, Martin peppers Peyson with uncomfortable inquiries regarding a fire that occurred in their apartment…which the Peysons didn’t report.

Peyson has good reason to be nervous: he’s in cahoots with unscrupulous insurance agent Frederick P. Fender (Douglas Fowley).  (Wait…does this mean the insurance guy is Freddy Fender?  The Before the Next Teardrop Falls and Wasted Days and Wasted Nights guy?  Hokey smoke, Bullwinkle!)  Peyson is deep in debt to Fender, and Freddy P. is trying to help his pal by filing false insurance claims while keeping the real furs under wraps (evening wraps, natch) in his personal warehouse.  Suspicious of Martin and the inconvenient truth that he’s asking too many questions, Fender assigns his right-hand man, pyromaniac Pete Purdy (Edward Brophy), to “shadow” Martin in an attempt to see if he’s on the up-and-up.  Joe manages to fool Pete (it’s not too hard—it is Ed Brophy, after all) into thinking he’s susceptible to taking a dishonest bribe or two, particularly after an incident in a betting parlor raided by the gendarmes.  But it’s all part of Joe’s ingenious plan to bring Fender and Company down, putting an end to their no-goodness.

Arson, Inc. (1949) is really little more than an extended Crime Does Not Pay short (the only difference is that the M-G-M series were typically two-reelers…Arson is a six-reeler).  It begins in semi-documentary style, with an officious-sounding fire chief (William Forrest) admonishing the viewing audience that they need to be more vigilant in fire prevention (thanks for the lecture, Smokey the Bear) …but that the fire department, too, is doing all they can by keeping an eye out for those firefighters who demonstrate that they are S-M-R-T and worthy of being promoted to the upper ranks.  Fire Chief is just about to tell us the tale of one such fireman (in other words, the entire plot of Arson, Inc.) when he’s interrupted by a knock on the door, and our hero Martin enters…thus bringing the documentary to an end and allowing the picture to commence.  (I would have given my eyeteeth to hear Forrest yell “Can’t you see I’m trying to narrate in here?”)

Arson, Inc. may be in black-and-white and it may be a crime picture…but as has often been noted on the blog, that does not make it film noir.  But this did not discourage VCI from slapping these onto collections and labeling them as such…and truth be told, I kind of enjoyed Arson.  It’s three minutes longer than Fingerprints Don’t Lie (1951) …and still manages to be a more entertaining movie.  Arson was directed by B-Western veteran William A. Berke (he rode herd on a lot of Charles Starrett-Russell “Lucky” Hayden oaters at Columbia), who also helmed a VCI “Forgotten Noir” entry that I’m going to be skipping over because I already covered it back in May of 2012—1947’s Shoot to Kill.  (I’ll probably watch it again just to see if this print is better than the public domain one featured on the Mill Creek collection Dark Crimes.)

So why did I enjoy Arson, Inc.?  Sure, the plot is a little absurd (screenplay by Maurice Tombragel from an Arthur Caesar story) and runs out of steam before the hour is out (they have to institute some embarrassing shortcuts, including killing two people off in a high-speed car crash), but this Robert L. Lippert production does have an impressive cast…and I mean impressive in the sense of “Hey…that’s (fill in the blank)!”  Douglas Fowley, before he grew a set of whiskers and took out his false teeth to play scads of old codgers on episodic TV (including the grandfather on Pistols ‘n’ Petticoats), wasn’t too shabby in the villainy department…though he mostly played henchmen, so it’s nice to see him get a promotion here.  There’s a scene in Arson where Fowley, upset that a scheduled inferno did not go as planned, steps out of his office and slaps his secretary Betty across the face, thinking she spilled her guts to the cops.  (She didn’t, by the way, and while I’m not a lawyer I believe she has the makings of a solid sexual harassment case.)

The secretary is played by Marcia Mae Jones, a former child actress who won my heart when she portrayed Shirley Temple’s tormentor in The Little Princess (1939).  Jones was one of the rare kiddie thesps who became better actors (and in Marcia Mae’s case, sexier) as they matured, and I loved every minute she was onscreen in this one.  She gets pouty whenever Anne Gwynne’s character is around (she sees Jane as a potential rival for Fender’s affections…and I won’t beat around the bush—Mr. Fender starts to like Jane…a lot), and has a funny scene where she pretends to be drunk during a night on the town with Lowery, Gwynne, and Brophy.  (She can do much better than Fowley’s Fender…but sadly, she does not.)

Ed Brophy is always great in comic relief roles…but he gets to add a little menace in his portrayal of Purdy, a slightly disturbed guy with an obsession for setting things on fire.  Maudie Eburne is also on hand as Jane’s grandmother (she and Gwynne’s character trade off on babysitting jobs, resulting in a funny punchline in a scene involving Fender), and the cast is further stocked with favorites like Byron Foulger, Lelah Tyler, Matt McHugh, Emmett Vogan, Charles Williams, and our old friend Thurl Ravenscroft (who performs There’s a Tavern in the Town and Little Brown Jug in a party sequence).  If the voice calling the horse race in the betting parlor sequences sounds familiar…it’s bachelor father John Forsythe.

Anne Gwynne, last seen on the blog in Murder in the Blue Room (1944), left Universal after one of her better-known pictures, House of Frankenstein (1944); she then freelanced at other studios (she was Tess Trueheart in 1947’s Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome) but never achieved the same level of stardom that she had enjoyed at Universal.  (She spent the rest of her career doing some early TV and lots of commercials.)  Anne was a most attractive actress (a popular “pin-up girl” among GI’s in WW2) but she doesn’t get much to do here…though in her defense, my attention was directed mostly toward Marcia Mae.  (Sorry, Anne…maybe I’ll drag out Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe [1940] to watch again one of these days.)

The star of Arson, Inc. is Robert Lowery, an actor who…well, here’s the intriguing thing: I’ve seen a lot of movies in which he appeared (he’s kind of unavoidable in serials like The Monster and the Ape and The Mystery of the Riverboat)—and yet I don’t care for him at all.  Honest to my grandma, this is what they write about Bob in his biography, one of Arson, Inc.’s DVD extras: “As he matured into middle age, he acquired a startling resemblance to Clark Gable.”  (Only if you encountered him in a darkened room.)  However, I will recommend two of Bob’s movie gigs: one is The Mummy’s Ghost (1944), because you can chuckle to yourself as to why the then 30-year-old Lowery is still a college student.  The other is the 1949 serial version of Batman and Robin…because whatever his shortcomings are as the Caped Crusader, he’s actually pretty good as Bruce Wayne—playing the Gotham City gazillionaire exactly as he should be portrayed: as a callous, bored playboy.

Oh, and Lowery gets props for a brief scene in Arson, Inc. in which he strolls past a movie theater advertising Highway 13 (1948) and I Shot Jesse James (1949); not only is it shameless self-promotion on behalf of the Lippert people, but Lowery stars in Highway (a picture directed by Arson’s William Berke).

This review turned out longer than I planned…so I should wrap this up with a correction of a mistake I made in earlier Lippert reviews from friend of the blog Richard M. Roberts.  Apparently the production companies I mentioned like “Spartan Productions” and “Encore Productions” were fictitious entities, based out of the Lippert studios in an effort to “spread out the financial responsibility on those pictures.”  Richard observes: “Lippert was a king of creative bookkeeping and low budget production.”  And he’s not just whistling Dixie, because Arson, Inc. opens with this impressive (fictitious) studio logo:

I’m starting to get a better idea of why George Raft saw his 25% of Loan Shark’s profits go south.  Have a great weekend, cartooners.

B-Western Wednesdays: Cowboy Canteen (1944)

During World War II, American and Allied servicemen who found themselves in Manhattan could often avail themselves of the recreational services provided by the Stage Door Canteen, a “home away from home” club that provided free grub and other entertainment, financed by the American Theatre Wing and served up by luminaries such as Lunt and Fontanne, Katharine Cornell and Helen Hayes.  The Canteen was even made the background of a feature film in 1943, as was the Hollywood franchise—known as the Hollywood Canteen, founded by Bette Davis and John Garfield—in 1944.  Both movies are crammed with celebrities and stars, and offer up diverting musical and comedy moments for those of us who like our nostalgia spread thick like peanut butter.

Columbia Pictures took a whack at starting their own version of the Stage Door/Hollywood Canteens with Cowboy Canteen, a 1944 quickie that features B-western cowboy favorites and their sidekicks sprinkled with much comedy relief and musical/novelty acts.  The plot is paper thin: female vocalist Connie Gray (Jane Frazee) and her best gal pal Vera Vague (as herself) go west (young man) to the idyllic hamlet of Lost Cow, California on a ranching vacation, accompanied by their theatrical troupe consisting of a female chorus known as The Tailor Maids and former Three Mesquiteer Max “Alibi” Terhune, who plays a magician-ventriloquist named “Professor” Merlin.  The group’s trip by train is shown at the beginning of the picture, where they are entertained by Jimmy Wakely and His Saddle Pals, stationed on a nearby Army base.

It was not always easy traveling by train in those days.

If this guy looks familiar (like he might run a crooked flying school) that's because Ben Taggart played Phil Bartlett in Chapters 3 and 4 of The Green Hornet, the serial currently under the microscope each Saturday here at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.

Arriving in Lost Cow, Connie, Vera and the rest are greeted by Spud Harrigan (Guinn “Big Boy” Williams), foreman of the “Lazy B” ranch on which they have signed on to work.  Taking the newcomers to the ranch via horse and wagon, Spud loses control of the team and all are rescued through the efforts of the Lazy B’s owner, Steve Bradley (Charles Starrett), and his rival/nemesis Tex Coulter (Tex Ritter).  Steve is livid that his new ranch hands are greenhorns, and voices his displeasure about the situation…but seeing as how he and Spud are scheduled to report for the Army in the morning, he must make do with what he’s got.  Tex takes an immediate shine to Connie, and tells Steve he’s planning to win her heart.

While Steve and Spud are in boot camp, Steve receives letters from his mother (Edythe Elliott) informing him that despite their inexperience, Connie and the troupe are doing a first-rate job at running the farm…and that Tex, who’s also agreed to help out while Steve is away, has become a completely changed man—dedicated to spending equal time at hard work and courting Connie.  Though Steve told Tex he could have free reign with any sort of romantic designs on Connie, he’s started to develop feelings for her himself despite their many disagreements.

Steve (Charles Starrett) and Spud (Guinn "Big Boy" Williams) are in the same barracks as Jimmy Wakely and his Saddle Pals...as Wakely and the group break out into song...

...Spud, who's been suffering from lack of female companionship, allows his imagination to run wild...

...and transform Jimmy and the Boys into a group that's tailor-made for his desires (namely, the Tailor Maids).

Steve and Spud get a chance to see Connie and Vera when their commanding officer (Herbert Hayes) assigns the two of them to oversee the construction of a “canteen” in a barn at the Lazy B, where acts like Roy Acuff & His Smokey Mountain Boys (and Girls) and the Mills Brothers are rehearsing.  (Okay—it’s Columbia…they can’t afford the big names like Warner’s Hollywood Canteen.)  Steve confronts Tex and tells him that he’s fallen for Connie, and the two of them brawl caveman-style in order to decide who will win her…something that doesn’t set at all well with Connie, who refuses to be treated like a prize at a rodeo.  But despite behaving like a real wanker throughout most of the picture, Steve finally sweeps Connie off her feet…and the two of them will marry when Steve returns from overseas, assuming he hasn’t had his ass shot off by then.

Biff! "Take that, Durango Kid!"

If you’re a B-western fan, you’ll probably get a kick out of Cowboy Canteen.  You’ve got two of the movie cowboy greats, Charles “The Durango Kid” Starrett and Tex Ritter, squaring off against each other (several characters comment that the two of them have been scrapping since they were kids)—but what I thought so odd about this is that I found myself rooting for Ritter over Starrett, simply because I’ve always thought Tex was more the charmer.  (I’ve only seen a handful of Starrett’s westerns, and I’m just not as sold on him as other people.)  Frazee, a veteran of these B-musicals like Hi’ya, Chum and Kansas City Kitty (she also appeared as leading lady to Roy Rogers in a few of his films), was never what one would call a commanding screen presence but she was always easy on the eyes (and a great vocalist to boot).

In addition to Williams, Canteen also features the poor man's Gabby Hayes in Emmett Lynn (at left), and Blackie Whiteford (in the middle). 

There’s the added bonus of future Monogram hero Jimmy Wakely being on hand, though he admittedly doesn’t do more than warble a tune or two; he figures very little in the actual plot.  But the addition of stellar sidekicks like Williams, Terhune and Dub “Cannonball” Taylor is a plus; as each man has a moment in the spotlight to trot out comedic hi-jinks (Williams is the object of Vague’s affection and acts the lunkhead accordingly; Taylor does an amusing bit with a counting horse).  Terhune performs with his dummy, Elmer…but it doesn’t come off nearly as creepy as when I watch it in the Mesquiteers films.  I liked this part of the routine, which sort of serves as a reminder how funny Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy were in the 1943 film version of Stage Door Canteen and how Columbia couldn’t afford Bergen-McCarthy money:

ELMER: Did you know I’m kin to Charlie McCarthy?

PROFESSOR: Charlie McCarthy?

ELMER: Yeah…

PROFESSOR: What kin?

ELMER: Stepbrother…

PROFESSOR: Oh, stepbrother…?

ELMER: Yeah… both made out of the same doorstep…

PROFESSOR: Well, how do you like Charlie?

ELMER: I hate the s…

(The Professor puts his hand up against Elmer’s mouth to censor him)

PROFESSOR: Here now…wait a minute!  Now, how about Mortimer Snerd?

ELMER: Oh, he’s a dumb…

(The Professor again places his hand against Elmer’s mouth for the sake of the Hays Office)

PROFESSOR: Now, Elmer…sit up here…they’re both good boys…

ELMER: Good for what?

PROFESSOR: Well, they’re just naturally good boys…if I had a dummy like Charlie, I’d get somewhere…

ELMER: Yeah, and if I had a ventriloquist like Bergen, I’d get somewhere…

But the comedy honors in Canteen go to TDOY fave Vera Vague—known outside of movies, radio and TV as “Barbara Jo Allen,” of course (Vera/Barbara and I share a birthday) but she was being billed by her better known nickname by this time (made popular on Bob Hope’s radio program) and more than likely got the gig because she was making comedy two-reelers for Columbia when this picture went before the cameras.  Vera is a real delight; eliciting chuckles even when the scripting is weak (it was written by Paul Gangelin, with noticeable lines and bits of business contributed by gag man Felix Adler, a veteran of the studio’s two-reeler department).  Vague is paired up with Williams in this one and they share some great scenes—my favorite is the one where Williams has offered to help Vague with the supper dishes and as she washes each dish and hands them to him to dry, he’s so infatuated with her that he keeps slipping them back into the water.  Vera even does a brief comedy exchange with Tex Ritter before she breaks into song (You Man You, written for the film by Saul Chaplin and Walter G. Samuels):

TEX: Vera, what are you gonna do tonight?

VERA: Nothing, you dear boy…I’ll meet you right after the show…

TEX (laughing): No…no…you don’t get me—I mean…uh…what’s your specialty?

VERA: Men…eighteen to forty-five, and no dependents…

TEX: What I’m tryin’ to ask is…are you gonna sing, or dance, or…can you tell a joke?

VERA: Certainly…I recognized you the moment you came out!

I don't know who clothed the Mills Brothers...but before they started singing (Up a) Lazy River I thought they were going to do a tumbling act.

Most of the original tunes written for Canteen are pleasant but unmemorable; but there are nice highlights from the Mills Brothers (they sing both Lazy River and Paper Doll) and the King of Country Music himself, Roy Acuff (Night Train to Memphis).  (The downside is that you also have to sit through a couple of acts that offer up prima facie proof while vaudeville died: one of them is a guy [Bill Hughes] who does a ventriloquist act with a “crow” and the other is billed “Buck, Chickie and Buck”…despite there only being two people in the act.)  Nevertheless, the production breezes by in an hour and ten minutes, and connoisseurs of cowboy stars and lowbrow comedy will find it to their liking, directed by B-movie auteur Lew Landers (the poor man’s William Beaudine).

Mayberry Mondays #35: “The New Farmhand” (11/17/69, prod. no. 0210)

In the earlier blogged-about Mayberry R.F.D. episode “The Pet Shop,” the titular business establishment opens up in town, and Mike “Idiot Boy” Jones (Buddy Foster), who is not allowed to have a dog because his father (poor-but-honest-dirt-farmer Sam Jones [Ken Berry]) is afraid he’ll break it, wangles a job cleaning up pet doody while falling for a Mongrel-American that looks suspiciously like the family dog on My Three Sons.  With the help of a scheming Beatrice “Aunt Bee” Taylor (Frances Bavier), Mike is able to persuade his father into letting him have the dog…but when the little mook becomes allergic to the pooch it is again Aunt Bee to the rescue, using her powers of pure evil to trick pedantic county clerk Howard Sprague (Jack Dodson) into adopting the canine.

The reason why I’ve recapped the above episode is because the actor who played pet shop owner Harvey Smithers, Glenn Ash, makes a return trip to that sleepy little North Carolina burg in today’s installment of Mayberry Mondays.  In “The New Farmhand,” an episode penned by OTR veteran Bob Mosher (who with longtime partner Joe Connelly created such TV sitcom classics as Leave it to Beaver and The Munsters) another round of kidding the audience occurs with this farm-oriented entry.  Heck, Mosher even has the audacity to open with a scene with Sam actually harvesting some of his crops!

MIKE: You know something about corn, Pa?

SAM: What’s that, Mike?

MIKE: It’s a lot more fun eatin’ it than pickin’ it…

SAM (smiling): You may be right…it seems to me, though, it wasn’t too long ago you used to beg me to let you help on the farm…

MIKE: Well, when you said I was too little it looked like fun…now that I’m big enough to do it it’s work…

I can kind of relate to Mike’s situation here.  Back in West Virginia, my folks had a small allotment on the farm of my Dad’s boss where they would grow vegetables …and they used to tell me it would be fun to engage in back-breaking labor picking the stuff.  Fortunately, my union was able to extract hefty wage concessions from Mom and Dad…plus full medical and dental.

Here’s another action that rendered me speechless the first time I watched this installment.  Sam actually mopping his brow.

SAM: Well, I just thought I’d get a little start on this before the hired hand gets here…

MIKE: Are we gettin’ a hired hand?

SAM: Yep!  He should be here sometime today…got him through the Grange…as a matter of fact, if he works out and he likes it here he might even stay on after the corn crop’s in…

MIKE: After he’s here—will I still have to work?

“Hey…those tubes of toothpaste at the factory don’t cap themselves, you know…”

SAM: No, Mike…you can go into complete retirement…

“And if you don’t know what that means, just hang around Emmett’s fix-it shop one afternoon…”

The scene dissolves to a shot of Sam and Mike out by the Waltons’ barn, taking bushel baskets of corn out of the back of Sam’s pickup.  A sporty automobile pulls up in a cloud of dust, and young Mike is clearly excited, as he’s never met anyone from Hazzard County before.

RUDY (getting out of the vehicle): Sam Jones?

SAM: Right…Harwell?

RUDY (shaking hands with Sam): Yep…Rudy Harwell…

SAM: Nice to meet ya, Rudy…see you found the place all right…

RUDY: Yeah…no trouble…

“They told me in town just to look for a place pretendin’ to be a farm!”  Sam then embarrassingly introduces his idiot son to the new farmhand (Ash), and when the little mook calls him “Mr. Harwell” he responds: “That’s Rudy to you.”

MIKE: Is this your car?

RUDY: Yep…all mine…

“That’ll teach Bo Duke to draw to an inside straight…”

MIKE: Hey, Pa!  Look at these mag wheels!  And hood scoops!  Hey—is that your racing number?

RUDY: Sure is!  (Explaining to Sam) I was doin’ some road racin’ for a while but it’s no way to make a livin’…

SAM (chuckling): No…I don’t imagine it is…is this your first crack at farming?

Rudy informs Sam that he was brought up on a farm, though he wisely chooses to leave the “prison” part off the description.  He has a dream of maybe one day getting a spread of his own, so maybe if we’re lucky he’ll shoot Sam down in cold blood and bury him on the property, telling deputy sheriff and village idiot Goober Pyle (George Lindsey, who’s absent from this episode) that Sam ran off and abandoned Mike.  (Hey…it’s plausible.)  Meanwhile, Mike has quickly taken a shine to the newcomer and is lovingly stroking Rudy’s ride.

MIKE: Hey, did you see the spoiler, Pa?

SAM (nodding his head toward the front of the car): Oh yeah…

MIKE: Not up there… (Pointing) Back there…

SAM: Oh…

RUDY: Your boy sure knows cars…

“He should…he’ll probably be washing them someday…”  Sam suggests to Rudy that he stow his belongings in the house, and Mike, ever the brown nose, offers to carry Rudy’s smaller bag.  Heading into the kitchen, Sam introduces the new hand to this week’s Aunt Bee substitute—who we learn has an actual last name, Flora Triplett (Dorothy Konrad).  (Later on in this episode, we’ll be presented with convincing evidence that this was actually planned as an Aunt Bee outing but for reasons unexplained actress Frances Bavier sat this one out.)

FLORA: We’re so glad that you got here!

RUDY: Well…nice to know you, Flora…

SAM: Uh…Flora’s kind of taking care of things around here for a little while…

MIKE: Aunt Bee’s sister is sick…

RUDY: Oh…sorry to hear that…well, look around at this kitchen here…neat…efficient…sure sign of a good cook…

Apparently Rudy did a stint with the Health Department in his long and varied career.  (Either that or it reminds him of the time when he did his boardin’ with the warden.)

SAM: Just wait till’ you taste her blueberry muffins…

FLORA: Oh, Sam…

RUDY: Well, it’s the smile that does it…ain’t a muffin in the world that wouldn’t rise for a smile like that…

Sure are an awful lot of flies in that kitchen for some reason…

FLORA: Oh, stop—you got me all flustered!

Oh, nice going, Rudy…now she’ll have hot flashes for the rest of the afternoon.  Sam motions for Rudy the Gigolo to follow him so he can show him his quarters, and the scene then dissolves to him and young Mike a-pickin’ more corn and putting it in bushel baskets.

MIKE: Boy!  We filled two more!

RUDY: Yeah, teamwork, Mike…ain’t nothin’ like it…

MIKE: We work good together…

RUDY: Sure thing…

MIKE: You’re a good farmer!

“I never met a real farmer before!”

RUDY: Well, I know I used to be…only farmin’ I’ve done the last five or six years, though, has been from an airplane…

MIKE: What?

RUDY: Sprayin’ crops…I worked for one of them crop dustin’ companies…

MIKE: You did?

RUDY: Yeah…that’s tricky flyin’, too…we’d come in off the ground about 20 feet…wide open!  And if you couldn’t look them potato bugs square in the eye…you knew you weren’t low enough…

MIKE (admiringly): Boy…

“Ask me some time about the time I tried to shoot down some Madison Avenue exec in a cornfield!”  Sam arrives on the scene about this time, and has nothing but admiration for Rudy’s diligent work ethic:

SAM: Hey…you guys have really been doing the job!

RUDY: Yeah, we’ve been goin’ right at it…

That’s what she said.  (You can’t begin to imagine how long I’ve waited to use that reference.)

MIKE (beaming): Rudy and I work good together!

SAM (looking around): Yeah, looks like you got this section pretty well whipped…

That’s what she…okay, I’ll stop now…I promise.

SAM: Say, Rudy…I snapped the U-joint on the tractor, and I have to get over to the supply house…I wonder if you’d run a couple of errands for Flora in town?

RUDY: Sure thing!

SAM: She’ll give you a list… (To Mike) Wanna take a drive with me, Mike?

MIKE: Well…can I go with Rudy instead?

SAM: Well…sure…sure…

“And can Rudy adopt me and be my new dad?”  Rudy heads toward the house to get instructions from Flora, and Mike takes his hand to present this amusing tableau:

All they need are a couple of fishing poles and someone whistling and…well, I have to be honest…you can’t really tell by this screen cap, but I detected a slight moistening in Sam’s eyes here…I just can’t determine whether it’s jealousy or delight at the thought of someone taking that little bastard off his hands.

Once again, to shake the viewing audience out of their lethargy, the producers of R.F.D. defy expectations by presenting fix-it savant Emmett Clark (Paul Hartman) in unusual circumstances…getting his work done without being bothered by Mayberry yokels with nothing else to do.  (Speaking of which, Howard’s not in this episode either…a moment of silence, if you please.)  Rudy and Mike enter the establishment, and I notice that Emmett is a little cool towards the new farmhand, though that might be his innate distrust of strangers.

RUDY (handing Emmett an iron): Miss Flora says you’re just the man to fix this…

EMMETT: Oh, she did, huh?  Well, that just shows how much she knows…

Funniest.  Line.  Ever.

EMMETT: I’ll take a whack at it…any of you fellas on the job today?

RUDY (tucking his thumbs under his belt): Yep…me and my pod-nuh just rode in…we gotta a couple of chores to do…then we might either shoot up a town or get ourselves a couple of ice cream cones…right, pod-nuh?

MIKE: Right!

RUDY: We’re gonna walk right into that ice cream store…step right up to the bar and tell ‘em: “We want a couple of doubles…two scoops each!”

EMMETT: That’s a pretty rough ice cream store…

I hear even the cream topping gets whipped.  (Oh, I slay myself sometimes.)

RUDY: Ehhh…we can handle ‘em…right, pod-nuh?

MIKE: Right!

RUDY: ‘Course we gotta a couple of chores to do first… (He takes a slip of paper from his shirt pocket) Let’s see…got the grocery store…

MIKE: Let’s go, partner!

EMMETT: Just make sure you two hombres are out of town before sundown!

RUDY/MIKE: Right, partner!

Oh, brother…there is then a mandated syndication edit which finds Emmett entering the city council office, Flora’s iron in hand:

EMMETT: Hey…Rudy brought this in, and it’s all fixed…I thought you might want to take this home with ya…

SAM: Oh, yeah…thanks, Emmett…thank you… (Slight pause) Hey, where’s the cord?

(Emmett takes a beat, noticing he’s neglected to reattach the cord)

EMMETT: Oh…well…hey, that Rudy’s quite a guy, ain’t he?

SAM (crossing back over to his desk): Yeah, yeah…he sure is, Emmett…

EMMETT: Yeah…he’s the kind of guy you gotta like…you know, dynamic personality…

SAM: Yeah…

EMMETT: You know, when I was young…I used to have a personality like that…dynamic…outgoing…all kinds of wisecracks…

SAM: Hmm…

EMMETT: I had a great personality…

SAM: Yeah…

EMMETT: Marriage killed it deader than a mackerel…

Every now and then, Paul Hartman (as Emmett) will deliver a line in such a fashion that makes me SOL (snort out loud).  That was one of them.

SAM: Oh…now…I know you and Martha get along fine…

EMMETT: Well, maybe…all I know is when I get up in the morning I just don’t feel too laughy…I think that’s a great guy you got workin’ for ya…

SAM: Yeah…

EMMETT: Yeah, and Mike’s crazy about him, too…he’s a big man with Mike…

SAM: Yeah…sure is…

Emmett then does another amusing bit of business in which he lifts up the iron in his hand, scowls at it because it’s missing its cord, and then he hurriedly sticks it under his vest as he says so long to Sam.  We then dissolve to a scene at the Jones family table, where Rudy is shoveling the last remnants of pie into his maw.

RUDY: Flora…I can’t remember when I’ve had a better meal…

FLORA: Oh, it’s just something I threw together…

“…at the trash can.  Then I went through the drive-thru at KFC…”

RUDY: Boy, you sure throw pretty good…

MIKE: Rudy bought me an ice cream cone today!  A Rudy Harwell Special!  Boy, was it great…two scoops!

“Just a little something I used to fall back on to get the kids into my van…”

SAM: Well…good…

RUDY: Well…we were just hackin’ around town today…try to cool off a little bit…I got in the habit of eatin’ ice cream when I was down in Galveston with the auto circus…

MIKE: An auto circus?

RUDY: Yep!

MIKE: He used to fly planes, too!  With a crop dusting company!

SAM: Well…is there anything you don’t do, Rudy?

“I don’t do windows.”

RUDY: Yep…I never pass a bingo parlor when them women are drivin’ home…feller could get hurt…

SAM: Mike…you better finish your milk and…get started on your homework, huh…?

MIKE: Well, I don’t feel like any more milk…

What’s this?  Insubordination?  This might turn out to be a cool episode, in which Sam teaches the little smart aleck not to back sass by having him spend a night in the box…

RUDY: Oh, you better drink it if you want to grow up big and strong!

MIKE: Did you used to drink it?

“All the time…before I met my friend Jack…hell of a friend!”  Rudy replies in the affirmative, telling Mike milk will give him “the old ziperoo”—I halfway expected him to turn to the camera and do a commercial.  (“Milk—it does a body good!”)  So Mike drains the glass and then makes tracks for upstairs…but remembers to thank Rudy for taking him to town.

RUDY: Sure thing, pal… (When Mike leaves) That’s a fine boy you got there, Sam…

SAM: Yeah…yeah…

RUDY: Well…can I help you with the dishes, Flora?

FLORA: No, thanks…I got most of them done…

RUDY: Well, that being the case, I think I’ll go tinker on the car a little bit…

SAM: Okay, Rudy…

RUDY (slapping him on the back): See ya after a while, Sam…

Actor Glenn Ash’s Southern drawl is so strong—and he has a tendency to slur his words—that I honestly thought for a minute he told Sam and Flora “I think I’ll go tinkle on the car a little bit.”  So here’s the first indication that this script was already prepared with the Aunt Bee character in mind: Flora is tres concerned about Mike’s worship of Rudy, and this seems a little out of place, seeing as that she’s a mere domestic and all.

FLORA: Sam…it’s none of my business but I was thinking…it might be a good idea if you spent a little more time with Mike…

SAM: Aw, now Flora…look…this is just a phase the kid’s going through…somebody comes along…big hero…these things pass…

FLORA: Maybe…but you take my advice and do something about it before it goes too far…you know, Rudy seems to have a way of making life very interesting for Mike…now there’s no reason why you can’t make it just as interesting…

Yeah…it’s a regular world of wonder at Goober’s gas station…Emmett’s fix-it shop…or heaven forfend, Howard’s office… (“Now, Mike…those decals are only temporary until the paperwork has been checked rigorously and passes muster with the State Utility Commission…”)  But seriously…we don’t even know who this Flora person is, and all of a sudden she’s qualified to be giving Sam child-rearing advice?  (Actually, I have a theory that Flora is an old pal of Aunt Bee’s from “Camp Cupcake” the time Bee was doing a solicitation rap.)  As Sam takes time to reflect on Flora’s advice, it’s time for a General Foods commercial.

In one of the earliest Mayberry R.F.D. episodes I tackled here on the blog, “Youth Takes Over,” I mentioned in passing a short created by filmmaker David Bright entitled Why Come There Ain’t No Black People in Mayberry (2008)—which takes public domain episode footage from The Andy Griffith Show and humorously twists it into a Twilight Zone-ish tale in which an African-American is dropped into TV Land’s favorite small town.  Of course, the title of Bright’s project is a bit of a misnomer (actor Rockne Tarkington appeared in a TAGS episode playing Opie’s football coach) but for the most part, Mayberry was a lily-white preserve during that series’ eight-season run.  Things have of course dramatically changed on R.F.D.—a couple of black characters have turned up in “Youth” and also in “Driver’s Education”…but both of them are ultimately revealed to be related to the town’s token black regular, Ralph Barton (Charles Lampkin).  This is why I was sort of amused by this next sequence, in which Sam and Mike are kicking around Mayberry because you can clearly see several African-American extras in the background…and I speculated that they were probably all related to Ralph in some way.

There’s Ralph’s uncle on the bench…

Ralph’s father walking past Sam and Mike (he was still with us at the time that screen cap was taken)…

And that must be the heretofore unseen Mrs. Ralph…well, enough sociology for today—back to the episode!

SAM: Well…let’s see now, Mike…we’ve…uh…looked at the new puppies in the pet shop window…

“Pa…did you notice Mr. Smithers looks an awful lot like Rudy?”

SAM: …watched the girls’ softball team practice…what would you like to do now?

MIKE: Gee, I don’t know, Pa…

“How about watching the girls’ softball team shower?”

SAM: Well, uh…let’s see…I think there’s a matinee at the movies—you wanna catch that?

MIKE: I saw that picture last year…it’s a re-release…

SAM: Oh…well…we won’t let that bother us, will we?  Fortunately in a town like Mayberry, there’s plenty to do and see…

“Hey…I think today is the day that Goober cleans the restrooms at the gas station!”  No, Mike’s reaction to that line is kind of funny…he looks around in both directions and then asks Sam: ”Where?”

SAM: Well, uh…uh…I’ll tell ya what…when I’m in the council office, you’re always pestering me to use the typewriter…you can go in there and fool with it all you want—how ‘bout that?

MIKE: Okay…

With the same enthusiasm one would devote to a dentist appointment, Mike decides to kill the rest of the afternoon with the typewriter…but he’s also been promised “a big surprise” by his father, so he’s pretty jazzed when Sam returns to the city council office:

MIKE: What is it?

SAM (laughing, with both hands behind his back): Guess!

MIKE: I can’t guess!

SAM: Well…ta-dum!!! (He reveals an ice cream cone in each hand) A Rudy Harwell Special!

MIKE (scowling slightly): What are those flavors?

SAM: Maple walnut and banana…here… (He hands one to Mike)

MIKE: That’s not a Rudy Harwell special!

SAM: Well, there are two scoops…

MIKE: A Rudy Harwell Special…is tutti-frutti and chocolate marshmallow…

Oh, Samuel…epic fail, dude.

SAM: Well, uh…maybe you’d like to try this…

MIKE: I never heard of maple walnut and banana…

I’m amazed that there’s more than one kind of ice cream at Mayberry’s drugstore, to be honest.  Sam’s next line is funnier if you hear Ken Berry’s delivery…he sort of grits his teeth and enunciates each word in anger: “Tell me this…would you like me to go get you the official, world-renowned Rudy Harwell special?  Consisting of one scoop of chocolate marshmallow and one scoop of tutti-frutti, huh?”

“No thanks,” replies Mike.  “I don’t feel like an ice cream cone.”  Ungrateful little… So there’s Sam, standing there like a doofus with two melting cones in each hand (“It’s dripping,” Mike helpfully points out) and he’s forced to dump both of them in a trash can.  Mike sort of does a funny eye-roll that I tried to get a decent screen cap of but this was the best I could do.  A sticky Sam and his son then leave the office, and we cut to Rudy Harwell, the man himself, tossing bushel baskets of corn into the back of a truck as if they were bushel baskets of corn.  Flora arrives on the scene with some refreshments.

FLORA: I brought you some lemonade…and cake…

RUDY: Well, that’s mighty thoughtful of ya…all this and a pretty face to go with it… (Flora titters) A man can’t ask for hardly more than that…

I’ll bet if Flora had money we’d be hearing the strains of The Merry Widow right about now…

FLORA: Well, is everything going all right?

RUDY: Oh, fine…fine…Sam and Mike went into town, didn’t they?

FLORA: Yes…they’re very close, you know…

RUDY: Mm-hmm…that’s the way it should be…a boy and his pa…

FLORA: I was wondering…do you plan to stay on after the crop is in?

RUDY: Well, I plan on stayin’ on as long as Sam wants me…this is the best livin’ I’ve done in a long time…

The lines written for Flora are clearly Aunt Bee-like…though if Aunt Bee was here, that cake Rudy’s eating would have enough rat poison in it to fell a nanny goat, and there’d be a cut to a scene of Bee planting his ass in the south forty.  Rudy tells Flora that his plans to stay on will rest entirely on Sam, and so she excuses herself to go back into the house to start dinner.  (She also subtly reminds Rudy that Sam and Mike will be home soon because “they’re very close, you know.”)

Back in town, Sam and Mike—hey!  I think that’s Ralph’s cousin behind Sam.  You know, the one who’s been out of work and has…well, that’s really not important.  Standing outside the hobby shop, Sam reflects on the swell day he had palling around with Mike:

SAM: You know, Mike…we…we ought to do this more often—we had a lot of fun today, huh?

MIKE: Yeah… (Pause) Pa?

SAM: Yeah?

MIKE: If we’ve had enough fun now…do you think we could go home?

SAM (crestfallen): Oh…well…yeah…yeah, I guess…

MIKE: Rudy sort of half-promised I could wash his car…

Well, there’s no reason not to let the little essobee practice for his future vocation, Sam.  But “Rudy’s car” gives Sam an inspiration: spotting a model car kit that looks similar to Rudy’s in the hobby shop window, he suggests to Mike that they buy it and work on it together in the confines of Casa del Jones.

So the assembly begins around the kitchen table…and although this might be my own personal prejudice peeking through, I hated model kit building when I was a kid.  The cars I put together never looked the way they were supposed to on the boxes they came in, the instructions were generally deciphered from the original Mandarin Chinese, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.  Mike wants to put the car together without instructions (“Harold and I put together two aircraft carriers…and we never read the instructions”)—which is the time-honored Shreve method (my family never reads the instructions unless sparks start emanating from the device in question)—but Sam is a stickler for detail.  Unfortunately, these sorts of shenanigans invariably result:

SAM: This is gonna be a beaut…now watch this…glue these two together…like that!  See!

MIKE: Pa!

SAM: What?

MIKE (reading): “Warning…before gluing Number 3 to Number 2…assemble Four, Five and Six as one unit…and install Motor Seven to Number Twelve…”

SAM: What?

MIKE: You already glued Number Three…

SAM: Yeah, I know…I know…

MIKE (taking the model in his hands and attempting to pry the pieces apart): It’s sticky…

Like your bed sheets.

SAM: Here…here…we’re just going to pry Number Three loose and assemble Four, Five and Six like it says…

MIKE: While you’re doing that—can I go watch television?

SAM: No you cannot…you’re gonna stay right here!  I said it was going to be fun building this thing together and that’s just what it’s going to be!

Hoopy doopy, we have fun.  Sam and Mike almost have the vehicle assembled but they’re having difficulty finishing the project…but thanks to Rudy, who recognizes the car (“Hey, that’s a 440 Magnum Superstop!”), he makes the necessary adjustment to the model and once again emasculates Sam in front of his kid.  All Flora can do is look sad and concerned in an Aunt Bee-like fashion.  Mike doesn’t even want to play with the car, preferring to help Rudy look for more bushel baskets…causing Flora to continue looking sad and concerned.

RUDY: You sure you wouldn’t rather play with your model now that you and your Dad finished it?

MIKE: Oh, I can play with that anytime, Rudy…come on!

A pensive Rudy then realizes that he’s got to make the big gesture and patch things up with Sam and Mike…or else he’s going to discover that the little brat has stowed away in the trunk of his car about the time he gasses up in Knoxville.

We dissolve to a shot of Mike hunched over his homework at the dinner table.

MIKE: I don’t think I’m ever going to get this…

FLORA (entering the room carrying dishes): What’s that, Mike?

MIKE: An assignment the teacher gave us…it’s a composition…it’s real important, ‘cause we have to write it in ink…

FLORA: Well, what kind of composition?

MIKE: Well, the title is “My Goal in Life”…it’s gonna be 150 words…

“I don’t even know 150 words…”

FLORA: My, that does sound important…

MIKE: Do you think you could help me with it?

Flora fobs on Mike an excuse that she’s got dinner to prepare but suggests it might be more a more appropriate assignment for a man (manly homework!), and further advocates that Mike ask the man who’s been putting food on the table and clothes on his back for all of his nine years on this planet…his father, S…S…Sam, I think his name is.  Flora tells the kid Sam’s upstairs in his room, and as Mike prepares to ascend the stairs, he stops to ask Flora if Rudy is upstairs as well.  Flora says yes, and seems dejected when Mike leaves.

So Mike is at a crossroads in his life, represented by this “lady or the tiger” scenario.  The door on Mike’s left (our right) belongs to his father…who represents calm stability and rural wisdom, even if he is trapped in a town populated by yahoos.  The opposite door is Rudy’s room…and Rudy represents…well, let me put it this way—who would you rather hang out and have a beer with?  Downstairs, Flora hears a door open and close…and though she really has no way of knowing which room Mike went into, she seems awfully distraught (and more than a little nosey, if you ask me).

MIKE: …and on account it’s such an important composition and all…I thought maybe you could help me…

RUDY: “My Goal in Life,” huh?

MIKE: Yeah…

RUDY: And you want me to help you with it…

MIKE: Well, I figured you’ve done so many neat things…you’d probably know what a kid’s goal should be…

RUDY: Well…maybe I can help you…you say it’s a real tough composition, huh?

MIKE: Right!

RUDY: Well, when’s it due?

MIKE: Tomorrow…

RUDY: Tomorrow…well…I’ll tell ya the way ol’ Rudy’d work it…tomorrow when you wake up, just pretend you’re sick…that way you won’t have to go to school, and you can get out of the whole deal!

Day-amn, Rudy!  You are a genius, my racecar driving friend.

MIKE: Gosh, I can’t do that!  I’d be lying!

“Like a rug, my young dunce cap…like a rug.”

MIKE: Anyway, the teacher would make me do it the next day…

RUDY: So that’s the way she plays it, huh?

MIKE: Those are the rules…

RUDY: Hey!

MIKE: You gotta an idea?

RUDY: Who’s the smartest kid in your class?

Please take note that Rudy knew to ask Mike this question without once assuming any other possibility.

MIKE: Rodney Simms…

RUDY: Well, here’s what we do…just give Rodney half-a-dollar and have him write your composition along with his!

Rudy…buddy…promise me that you’ll never use that brain of yours for evil.

MIKE: Gee, I can’t do that!  I’m supposed to write it myself…

Here’s why Mike is—to borrow a definition from TDOY commenter rockfish—“the anti-Opie.”  Opie would actually consider doing something like this (he probably wouldn’t bother with the fifty cents crap, though…he’d just pummel Rodney into submission).  Mike’s too much of a weenie.

MIKE: Well…I just thought you could help me get it started…

RUDY: Well…you gotta write it yourself… (Mike nods) Well—why don’t you just take the easy way out?  Just write you don’t have any goal in life…you don’t wanna plan your life like a road map—you just wanna play it cool and see what comes along…

MIKE (whining): But that’s not what the teacher wants!

Kee-rist, this kid is pathetic.  Apologizing for taking up too much of his time (like a drifter has appointments to keep), he takes his leave of Rudy the Wastrel and walks across the hall to his father’s bedroom.  Downstairs, snoopy Flora is eavesdropping again, but she seems to suspect that Mike has now turned to his father for help, which is as it should be…a boy and his pa.

MIKE: You know, I tried to ask Rudy about the composition…and he wasn’t much help…

SAM: He wasn’t?

MIKE: No…he told me to take the easy way out…or even cheat!

SAM: He did that?

MIKE: Yeah…well…Rudy’s okay for some things…but when it comes to the important stuff, he’s not like you at all…

Rudy is listening to this last part of the conversation outside the door with a big ol’ sh*t-eatin’ grin on his face.  Satisfied that his work here is done, he continues down the hallway and downstairs…where he presumably enjoys a quickie before dinner with the voluptuous Flora.

Coda time!

Emmett enters Sam’s council office and angrily slams the iron down on Sam’s desk.  “This thing oughta work for you now,” he snarls.

EMMETT: Hey, Sam…I hear that new hired hand of yours took off this morning and left you flat…

SAM: No, no, no…he didn’t leave me flat, Emmett…corn crop is in, that’s what I hired him for in the first place…

EMMETT: Yeah, but you kind of expected him to stay on, didn’t ya?

SAM: No…that was entirely up to him…although he didn’t give me any reason for leaving…

EMMETT: Well…I guess Mike sure misses him…he had a great personality…kid couldn’t help likin’ him…you know…race driver…flyer…big man like that…

SAM: Well, you know I’m not so sure how Mike feels about him now…uh…Mike asked Rudy for some help on a composition for school…and you’d be surprised at some of the answers Rudy gave him…

EMMETT: Is that a fact?

SAM: Yeah…kind of crazy…I mean, I just can’t understand why a sharp guy like Rudy would give Mike such bad advice…it was…it was so bad, that Mike came right to me…and…

Boiiiiinnngggg!!! Yeah…he gets it now.

EMMETT: What’s the matter?

SAM: You said…Rudy was a big man, Emmett?

EMMETT: Yeah…

SAM: It just occurred to me that he might be a bigger man than we thought…

Say it with me now: “Awww…”

There’s going to be a little controversy with this week’s episode and Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s patented Bee-o-Meter™, which calculates the number of appearances made by Beatrice “Aunt Bee” Taylor on this series during her official two season stint from 1968-70.  Now, obviously she’s not in this episode…but if you look up “The New Farmhand” at the (always reliable) IMDb, you’ll see that they’ve included it among her R.F.D. appearances…taking care to place a little “(credit only)” asterisk beside Frances Bavier’s name.  I have no explanation for this other than…brace yourselves…the IMDb is flatly wrong.  Her name doesn’t appear in the opening credits of this episode, only Ken Berry’s and George Lindsey’s.  So the total count still stands at three appearances for Season Two…fifteen show-ups in toto.  But be of good cheer, Aunt Bee fans—she returns from helping her sister in the Mountain State next week…unfortunately, it is in time for the agonizingly dull Palm Springs story arc that I have been warning you good people about for some time now.

On an editorial note—I have to admit that I enjoyed Glenn Ash (also spelled Glen) more as pet shop tycoon Harvey Smithers in “The Pet Shop” than I did his turn in this episode.  Ash sort of fell off the radar in the 1980s (here’s a link to a postcard announcing a tour he appeared on with country music vocalists Charly McClain and T.G. Sheppard) but before that he was a well-known comedian-musician who began his career performing in Air Force Command Performance shows…then West Virginia’s own Don Knotts introduced him to TV audiences on a March 16, 1968 episode of the variety series The Hollywood Palace.  Guest shots on series like Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C., Petticoat Junction and The Leslie Uggams Show followed, and his Don Knotts connection landed him a role on the short-lived The New Andy Griffith Show in 1971 (as city councilman Buff McKnight).  He turned up a few times on series like M*A*S*H, Hart to Hart and Three’s Company after that (he even had an “Old Home Week” moment in 1987 working with Ken Berry in an episode of Mama’s Family) and his last known IMDb credit was in a 1993 TV-movie, Blindsided.  One credit that has escaped the notice of IMDb however, is this appearance on Norm Crosby’s Comedy Shop—you can get an idea of what his nightclub act was like by clicking here (Glenn is introduced at the 8:26 mark).  (And for you postcard completists, here’s one announcing Glenn’s appearance with Mr. Griffith himself and Frankie Avalon in 1975.)