“Mary Worth” was natural fodder for a satirist. Capp had included overheated elements of the soap opera genre in “Li’l Abner” dating back to the strip’s earliest days, always with a cynical slant that made it utterly clear that Capp held a very low opinion of accepted dating habits, the idealized marriage, and, in general, any starry-eyed dynamics in human relationships. The public debate over the wedding of Li’l Abner and Daisy Mae showed that readers had indeed been more interested in Daisy Mae’s pursuits and frustrations than in an idealized happy ending.
Capp held back nothing in his parody of “Mary Worth,” which ran on Sundays. The title character of Allen Saunders’s strip was a kindly, aging woman helping the lovelorn solve their romantic problems. Capp depicted her as a huge, imposing, ill-tempered shrew whose advice was nothing but stomach-churning clichés. The victim of her endless bloviating was her long-suffering son-in-law, Allen Flounder, a wonderfully rendered caricature of Saunders, right down to his receding hairline and ever-present pipe. Flounder produced a comic strip, “Mary Worm, America’s Most Beloved Old Busybody,” which happened to be Daisy Mae’s favorite strip. Li’l Abner, noting that his wife’s reading of the strip came at the expense of her taking care of his happy home, demanded that Daisy Mae choose between her husband and “Mary Worm.” After tossing him out of the house, Daisy Mae wrote Mary Worm, imploring her to come to Dogpatch and save her marriage. Flounder’s mother-in-law, the model for his comic strip, took off to investigate, and rather than help, the old meddler compounded Daisy Mae’s marital problems by dispensing such wisdom as “Make him suffer!! One of my sweetest wise sayings is—‘A husband that suffers is a husband that appreciates.’ ” Mammy Yokum, as usual, wound up saving the day.
Allen Saunders proved more than capable of holding up his end of the feud. His response began in “Mary Worth” a few days after Capp’s opening salvo. In Saunders’s retaliation, Mary Worth, who volunteered at the box office of a local theater group, was dispatched to deliver tickets to the summer home of Hal Rapp, the famous cartoonist. Rapp turned out to be an intolerable, self-centered boor; he did virtually no work while a group of artists, working in a space more sweatshop than studio, produced his strip, “Big Abe.” Saunders knew Capp was a teetotaler but slyly depicted him as a drunk. Artist Ken Ernst’s caricature of Al Capp, like Capp’s of Allen Saunders, was dead-on.
In 1957, Al Capp and friendly rival Allen Saunders, creator of “Mary Worth,” concocted feuding parodies for publicity. Capp’s “Mary Worm” was portrayed as an insufferable busybody.
Capp used his connections to see that his feud with Saunders was well publicized. Both combatants took public swipes at each other, all written up by an increasingly amused press.
“Mary Worth is a nasty, blackhearted, nosey old hag,” Capp said in mock disgust, referring to the Hal Rapp sequence as “unpardonable slander, something disgraceful, humiliating.” Responded Saunders, “Al Capp is surrounded by phonies—he doesn’t know any real, true, honest people. It is impossible for him to understand a fine character like Mary Worth.” Saunders was equally disdainful of Capp’s caricature of him: “Obviously the real reason he drew such a poor likeness is because he’s such a lousy artist.”
At least one newspaper took the feud to heart. Calling Saunders’s “Mary Worth” story a “thinly disguised attack on the creator of another comic strip,” the Des Moines Tribune suspended publication of “Mary Worth” until the Hal Rapp story had run its course. “The editors of the Tribune believe that readers want to be entertained by comic strips and are not interested in the jealousies and rivalries that exist between comic strip creators,” the paper explained.
Capp moved straight from his “Mary Worm” parody to a send-up of Milton Caniff’s “Steve Canyon.” This sequence also ran in the Sunday papers. The comic strip within a comic strip “Steve Cantor” written by one Milton Goniff, found Li’l Abner and Steve Cantor teaming up against the evil Jewel Brynner, “the most dangerous bald girl spy in the Orient.” Capp’s uncanny imitation of Caniff’s style harked back to the day when young Al Caplin, desperate for a job in cartooning, lugged a portfolio of imitations from job interview to job interview, with no success. Nobody wanted imitations. Now here he was, being paid top dollar for his parodies. It was an irony he could appreciate.
After ending its successful run on Broadway, Li’l Abner hit the road, beginning at the Riviera Hotel in Las Vegas. Most of the Broadway cast members traveled with the road show. Audiences responded enthusiastically.
The musical had still been in full swing on Broadway when officials at Paramount Pictures began their preliminary talks about converting it into a movie, as had been their intention all along. Musicals were still very popular in movie houses, and Li’l Abner offered something appealing to audiences of all ages. Executives at Paramount hoped to have the movie ready for a Christmas 1959 release, which meant that preproduction, filming and postproduction had to go quickly and efficiently.
Luckily, two thirds of the musical’s Broadway brain trust stayed aboard. Norman Panama and Melvin Frank would again be heavily involved, with Panama producing, Frank directing, and the two teaming up on the screenplay. Michael Kidd, however, was out. The play’s award-winning choreographer fought with Paramount over his contract, and an agreement was never reached. Dee Dee Wood, his assistant in choreographing the dance numbers on Broadway, was brought on board to see that nothing would be lost in the film adaptation. Given the tight production schedule, there was no time for drawn-out rehearsals.
To facilitate a smooth transition, Panama and Frank cast as many of the Broadway actors and dancers as possible in the film, but three of the important players had to be replaced. Edie Adams and Charlotte Rae were pregnant; neither had cared much for her Broadway role, anyway. Tina Louise wasn’t interested, either. Peter Palmer, Billie Hayes (who took over the role of Mammy Yokum on Broadway after Charlotte Rae dropped out), Stubby Kaye (Marryin’ Sam), Julie Newmar, and Howard St. John (General Bullmoose) reprised their Broadway roles in the film.
Panama and Frank conducted dozens of screen tests before settling on Leslie Parrish as the movie’s Daisy Mae—a surprise selection since Parrish was a relative newcomer. Working under the name of Marjorie Hellen, Parrish had appeared in minor roles in other movies, but this would be her first starring role. Stella Stevens, who would be the January 1960 Playboy Playmate centerfold, was cast as Appassionata von Climax. Theater posters and ads would say that Li’l Abner was the “most girl-stacked musical ever made,” a double entendre that proved to be truth in advertising.
As comics writer and historian Mark Evanier pointed out in a detailed article on the making of Li’l Abner, Paramount bigwigs were not happy that the film didn’t have a box office heavyweight to entice moviegoers into theaters. Jerry Lewis was Paramount’s biggest draw at the time, and to appease Paramount, Melvin Frank talked him into dropping by to shoot a cameo appearance during one of his breaks from filming Don’t Give Up the Ship on a nearby soundstage.
“He also insisted that his name not be used in advertising,” Evanier reported, “to which Panama and Frank agreed, apparently hoping that Paramount brass could later persuade Lewis to waive his ‘no billing’ condition.”
Li’l Abner hit the movie screens on schedule. Capp provided nine images of the “Li’l Abner” characters in the movie, to accompany the cast photos in publicity materials. A private screening of the film was arranged for Capp and his family in Boston.
The movie was well received by critics, praised as enjoyable, if low-brow, entertainment. For Capp, the film was a satisfying conclusion to another strong year. The strip, celebrating its twenty-fifth anniversary, had offered two time-proven audience pleasers—a reappearance of the shmoo and an especially inspired “Fearless Fosdick,” a commentary on the persistent complaints about comic book violence, in which Fosdick is forced to fight crime without the use of a weapon.
After twenty-five years, Al Capp was still delivering.
That Bence was still involved in Capp Enterprises was nothing short of remarkable. He and Al had worked out a solution to their hostilities of six years earlier, most likely because both realized that they needed each other much more than either was willing to admit during their heated exchanges and threats of courtroom battles. There had been renewed flare-ups over the ensuing years, usually when Bence failed to follow Al’s directives, but Bence had brokered deals that proved to be beneficial to both brothers—and, when all was said and done, the bottom line was all that really mattered.
Despite the occasional glitch, 1959 had been Bence’s finest year in representing Al’s best interests. When Al decided to run an extended shmoo story as a lead-in to another book-length shmoo collection for Simon & Schuster, Bence worked the phones and wrote numerous letters to newspaper and magazine editors, seeing that everyone was aware of the book’s publication date, as well as trying to find possibilities for excerpts in periodicals. He applied creative touches to the publicity for the release of Paramount’s Li’l Abner movie. He tried to push new merchandising proposals. Al was enjoying another banner year for creative ideas, and he relied on Bence to implement them.
The events in Washington coincided with the planning of the year-end releases of the shmoo book and the movie, making the last quarter of 1959 as frenetic as any Bence had experienced during his tenure at Capp Enterprises. September 28 alone was packed with activities demanding stringent planning. An invitation-only luncheon included an A-list of politicians and government officials (including Vice President Richard Nixon, Chief Justice Earl Warren, and Senator John F. Kennedy), cartoonists (Milton Caniff, Mort Walker, Rube Goldberg, Raeburn Van Buren), newspaper, magazine, and publishing executives, television bigwigs, and Eisenhower cabinet members. After the luncheon, the cartoonists met with U.S. Post Office officials to discuss the creation of a stamp commemorating the American cartoon. (It would take another thirty-six years for the post office to issue a set of stamps commemorating comic strips, but when they did in 1995 “Li’l Abner” was one of them.)
Immediately following that meeting, Capp was spirited away to another government building, where he accepted a key to the city. Capp walked away from the day’s events with an armload of gifts, awards, and plaques, including a Waldo Peirce oil painting of “Li’l Abner” characters, presented by Paramount Pictures; a statue of “Li’l Abner” from the Sister Kenny Foundation, in recognition of his years of charitable work with the organization; a series of medallions from the Treasury Department, each featuring one of the secretaries of the treasury serving when Capp was contributing to the U.S. Savings Bond effort; and plaques from the Ad Council and United Feature Syndicate, honoring the “Li’l Abner” anniversary.
Bence Capp saw that the festivities were announced to the media prior to September 28 and that thank-you letters were sent to key contacts and contributors afterward. The publicity, as Bence hoped, was invaluable, especially as an introduction to the release of the movie and book. Al was having the time of his life, and “Li’l Abner” received a boost in public attention that, had Capp been forced to pay advertising rates for it, would have cost a fortune.
This would be the last time the two brothers would be close and working well together. Shortly afterward, Bence asked for a $50-a-week raise—a 12 percent increase over the $400 weekly salary he was currently earning. Capp turned him down. Between salary and commissions, Al maintained, Bence was earning “an excellent living from me and my work, and a very easy one.”
Bence could not legitimately dispute the claim. Four hundred dollars a week was a substantial salary in 1959, especially when combined with commissions and extras (not to mention that Bence had other businesses on the side). Over the years, Capp had supplied Bence with a company car, paid for his lavish lifestyle (including an apartment for his girlfriend), and provided other amenities, all written off as expenses. Al was correct when he reminded Bence that his commission percentages—usually 50 percent, but often 100 percent—vastly exceeded the 10 percent industry standard. He might have sold Bence short when he spoke of how little effort the job required, but it was also true that there were long stretches of time when Bence had very little to do around the office.
Nor is there any doubt about the justification of Al’s long-standing complaints about the way Bence conducted business at Capp Enterprises. Al acknowledged Bence’s considerable skills in establishing valuable connections with differing businesses, yet he hated the way Bence would make unilateral decisions, often in conflict with Al’s orders. Since the beginning of Capp Enterprises, Al had shouted at Bence (literally and through the mail), kicked him out of the business, threatened him with lawsuits, and otherwise made his life miserable, only to relent, take him back, and start over.
Two business propositions led to a final split. In both cases, Bence stepped outside his authority at Capp Enterprises, misrepresented business points to the companies he was dealing with, as well as to his brother, and, in general, created an unholy mess that wound up involving attorneys, costing Al money and causing considerable embarrassment.
The first transaction, in early 1960, concerned the development of another Fearless Fosdick television show, this time a half-hour animated series, and involved powerful forces in entertainment and advertising. The original idea, enthusiastically endorsed by Al, had been a good one. The show would have involved some of the most highly regarded behind-the-scenes names in television, and all Al Capp had to do was sign off on the copyrights and provide scripts, which he could write himself or assign to others. The compensation was substantial, leading Bence to tell Al that it was one of the best deals in the business. Procter & Gamble, a giant in television advertising, would be underwriting the production. Unfortunately, Bence, seeing an opportunity for a huge payday, insisted on being listed as an executive producer (with a salary of $1,000 per episode), and his interference in the planning of the program nearly sank the deal. Al was furious. Bence had acted without conferring with him, and in cutting himself in on the profits—above and beyond his usual commission—Bence had misrepresented the way the money was being distributed.
The second transaction was even more outrageous. In December 1960, Al Capp’s attorney, Al Hochberg, formally notified Bence that he no longer represented Capp Enterprises or any of his brother’s other interests, but in early 1961 Bence had set up an agreement with U.S. Tire’s Royal Tire brand to create a series of magazine ads. Royal Tire wanted the distinctive Al Capp look for their ads. Bence, knowing that door had been slammed, hired Al’s longtime off-site assistant, Frank Frazetta, to do the artwork—with no notification to Al. Though not using trademark “Li’l Abner” characters, the ads featured characters that looked like they were drawn by Capp and could have appeared in the strip.
When Al Capp and United Feature Syndicate saw the ads in print, all hell broke loose. First, there was the question of copyright violation and plagiarism. Second, there was the possibility that Capp had violated his contractual agreement with United Feature by not informing the syndicate of the deal. Finally, there was the issue of Bence’s keeping the profits from the advertising campaign for himself and deceiving Royal Tire.
Once again, Al had to talk to the aggrieved parties and do damage control, causing him some embarrassment and loss of income. Al again instructed Hochberg to see that Bence was completely removed from his duties at Capp Enterprises, right down to disconnecting the company phone and informing Bence that he could no longer u
se company letterhead.
“Maybe you’re a blind spot with me, or vice-versa,” he told Bence. “At any rate, we ought to know now that we cannot get along in business, as many people can’t.”
By 1961, relations between Al and Bence Capp were strained, but a series of Royal Tire ads destroyed their personal and professional relationship. Bence hired Frank Frazetta to ape Capp’s style for the ads, resulting in prolonged litigation.
This time, there was no turning back. Al worked diligently through Hochberg to ensure that Bence had no legal recourse, and he made certain that Bence understood there could be severe legal repercussions if his indiscretions were brought out in court. Al avoided the name-calling that had peppered his previous exchanges with Bence, and, for his part, Bence knew that he had been defeated.
The two would never work together again. Nor were they able to resolve the hostilities between them. They rarely attended family gatherings and functions at the same time. Bence’s son, Todd, said his father preferred not to be in Al’s presence at such events, but that didn’t prevent him from causing mischief. When Madeline and Louis hosted holiday events at their New York City apartment, Bence would send Todd to represent his family. Todd recalled that his father, on two occasions, after a few drinks following dinner, “would call the apartment and in a loud voice say he was showing up and would toss Al down the steps. He never followed up, but Al would inevitably beat a hasty retreat.” On those occasions when they were forced to be together, such as posing for a family photograph taken on Otto Caplin’s eightieth birthday, the best they could muster toward one another was a strained civility.
In the waning days of the 1950s, Esquire magazine asked Capp what changes he saw coming in comics in the forthcoming decade. Capp predicted that the people running the newspaper comic strip pages would finally come to their senses and realize that diminishing the size of the strip to fit more strips per page was destroying the art—and, by extension, lowering circulation figures.
Al Capp Page 21