by Bob Thomas
Walt’s reply on June 1, 1924, was enthusiastic: “Everything is going fine with us and I am glad you made up your mind to come out. Boy, you will never regret it—this is the place for you—a real country to work and play in….I can give you a job as artist-cartoonist and etc. with the Disney Productions, most of the work would be cartooning. Answer at once and let me know what you want to start….At present time I have one fellow helping me on the animation and three girls that do the inking, etc. while Roy handles the business end.”
Walt and Ub agreed on a salary of $40 a week, and Ub came to California in late June, driving the car of Virginia Davis’s father. Now Walt could devote full time to gags and stories. His career as an animator was over.
With Ub on the payroll, there was little money left over for the two partners. Walt and Roy had moved out of Uncle Robert’s house and were sharing a single room in a rooming house, with a bathroom down the hall. They ate their meals in the room or dined at a nearby cafeteria. The brothers devised a technique to stretch their dinner money. As they went down the cafeteria line, Walt ordered the meat course and Roy took the vegetable. When they got to the table, each portion was split in half, and they shared with each other.
The addition of Ub Iwerks as animator gave the Alice Comedy series an added boost, both in the quality of the drawing and the speed with which they were produced. But the money flow did not improve, and a note of desperation entered Walt’s letters to the distributor. After her marriage to Charles Mintz, Margaret Winkler had retired. Mintz took over the company, and the relationship between producer and distributor was not as cordial as before. Mintz began sending half-payments for the films.
“We need money,” Walt wrote to Mintz on August 29, 1924. “We have been spending as much as you have been paying us for [the films] in order to improve and make them as good as possible, and now that we are receiving only $900.00, it puts us in a ‘‘ell of a ‘ole.’ I am not kicking about that, however, I am perfectly willing to sacrifice a profit on this series, in order to put out something good, but I expect you to show your appreciation by helping us out. As you know, we haven’t had the money to spend on them, we will have to skimp, and at this time, it would not be best to do that. So please, for our sake as well as your own, give this more consideration and instead of sending us $900.00, make it the full amount excepting a fair discount which will enable us to pull through this period.”
Mintz replied that his own company was short of money and he could not accelerate the payments. He reported that he had been able to book Alice Gets in Dutch into the new Piccadilly Theater in New York, but that the manager had complained that Alice appeared too light and her actions were too jumpy. Walt replied that he could improve both conditions, but a certain amount of jumpiness was inevitable because of double printing of the animation on the live action. Mintz continued to press for more comedy, and Walt wrote him that in Alice Cans the Cannibals “we have endeavored to have nothing but gags, and the whole story is one gag after another.”
As the comedy improved in the Alice Comedies, public and critical acceptance grew. Motion Picture News remarked of Alice’s Wild West Show: “Walt Disney, the cartoonist, produced a novel combination of an actual acting cast and cartoons in this single reeler and it is highly amusing and wholly entertaining.” The Kinematographic Weekly of London commented of Alice and the Three Bears: “The artist’s work and the living player are capitally united.” The Moving Picture World said of Alice Cans the Cannibals: “Each one of these Walt Disney cartoons…appears to be more imaginative and clever than the preceding, and this one is a corker.”
In December 1924, Mintz offered a contract for eighteen more Alices at $1,800 per picture, plus a share of the profits from rentals to theaters. At last the Disney Brothers Studio was on steady footing. Walt invited two more of the Laugh-O-gram alumni, Hugh Harman and Rudy Ising, to leave Kansas City and join him.
Living together in one room had proved a strain on both Walt and Roy. They grew irritable and snappish, particularly over meals. Roy was the cook, since he spent more time in the room; on doctor’s orders, he had to take an afternoon nap and quit work early. One night Walt claimed the dinner was unfit to eat, and Roy exploded, “All right, to hell with you! If you don’t like my cooking, let’s quit this arrangement.” He sent off a telegram to Edna Francis asking her to come to California and marry him.
Edna arrived with her mother on April 7, 1925, and the wedding took place four days later at the home of Robert Disney. Elias and Flora Disney came to Los Angeles from Portland, accompanied by Herb. Walt served as Roy’s best man, and the maid of honor was Lillian Bounds, a pretty girl who had been working as an inker and painter at the studio.
She had been born into a pioneering Idaho family and in 1923 had left business school in Lewiston to visit her married sister in Los Angeles. Lillian met a girl who worked at the Disney Brothers Studio, applying ink and paint to the cartoon celluloids. The girl said another job was open, and Lillian applied for it. Walt and Roy found her attractive and efficient, and she had the added advantage of living nearby, so they wouldn’t have to pay her carfare. She was hired at a salary of $15 a week.
Walt was too immersed in his work to pay much attention to the new ink-and-paint girl. But after he had bought a little Ford runabout for the studio’s errands, he sometimes drove the girls home from work. One evening as he dropped Lillian at her sister’s house, he remarked, “I’m going to buy a new suit. When I get it, would it be all right if I called on you?” Lillian said it would be.
A check had just arrived from M. J. Winkler, and Walt convinced Roy that they should celebrate by purchasing suits. They went to the Foreman and Clark store in downtown Los Angeles, and Walt picked out a two-pants outfit while Roy settled for a one-pants suit. Walt’s was gray-green, double-breasted and stylish. He arrived that night at Lillian’s house and after meeting her sister and brother-in-law, he asked eagerly, “How do you like my new suit?”
Walt became a steady caller, often having dinner at Lillian’s house, sometimes taking her out to a tearoom on Hollywood Boulevard. Walt acquired a new car, a secondhand Moon, dark-gray with a light on the radiator, and on weekends he and Lillian motored to Pomona, Riverside, and other Southern California cities. At night he and Lillian drove to theaters in Glendale or Hollywood. A dog he had bought Lillian kept her company in the car while Walt watched a rival’s cartoon. Afterward Walt expounded on the merits or deficiencies of what he had seen.
Walt had often proclaimed that he would never marry until he reached twenty-five and had saved $10,000. He fell short on both counts. After Roy had married Edna, Walt suggested to Lilly that they should marry, too. Roy took Walt to a cut-rate jeweler, who displayed a three-quarter-carat diamond surrounded by tiny blue sapphires, priced at $75, and others at $35. Walt selected the $75 ring. On July 13, 1925, he placed it on Lillian’s finger in the living room of her brother, the fire chief of Lewiston, Idaho. The newlyweds honeymooned at Mount Rainier and Seattle, then returned to a $40-a-month kitchenette apartment in Los Angeles. Thereafter Lillian worked at the studio only in times of emergency.
Marriage brought added pressure on the Disney brothers to make their young enterprise succeed. Roy continued overseeing the financial affairs, entering expenses into the company ledger with a meticulous hand: a hat for Virginia, $4.95; salary for a teacher, two days, $20; tips for the projectionist and organist at a preview, $2; salary for Roy Disney, $50. On July 6, 1925, the Disneys made a $400 down payment on a lot at 2719 Hyperion Avenue, where they planned to build a larger studio.
Robert Disney had been repaid his original $500, but his nephews had to submerge their pride and ask their uncle for an additional $100 when their cash ran low. Roy contributed his $80-a-month pension. The studio’s financial health depended largely on money from M. J. Winkler after delivery of each new cartoon. The checks were now being brought in person by Charles Mintz’s brother-in-law and Hollywood representative, George Winkler, but th
e money did not arrive promptly enough for Walt. He complained to Mintz, who responded that Alices were being delivered too frequently. This started an angry exchange of letters.
Disney to Mintz, October 2, 1925: “First, let me say that it is my intention to live up to the contract and I expect you to do the same….I intend to continue shipping pictures to you as fast as completed, which is about every sixteen days. I will expect you to take them as delivered and remit immediately. Your failure to do so will constitute a breach of contract and will force me to seek other distributors….”
Mintz to Disney, October 6, 1925: “…Haven’t you a single spark of appreciativeness in your whole soul or are we going to face the same situation which we faced after having put a certain other short subject on the market only to have it proved a boomerang to us?…Now let me tell you something else. The first seven pictures were an absolute total loss to us and you can further take my word for it when I tell you that we have not made one single dollar on any picture that we have gotten from you….you should whole-heartedly be ashamed of yourself….”
Disney to Mintz, October 15, 1925: “Our contract calls for final delivery by January 5, 1926, with your option calling for twenty-six pictures the following year. I have built up my organization to where I can complete my deliveries of every two weeks, the following year, should you choose to exercise your option. With my present payroll, on a three weeks schedule I would absolutely be losing money, and to cut down my force is out of the question. You well know, yourself, how hard it is to get men trained in this line of work. My artists are all experienced, capable men, difficult to replace at any salary. How can I afford the loss which a delayed schedule would mean?…”
Mintz to Disney, November 17, 1925: “In the first place, I think you will agree with me when I tell you that we lost a lot of money on the first series of ‘Alice Comedies.’ I think you will also believe me when I tell you that, so far, on the second series, we are a great distance from breaking even. I think you will also agree with me when I tell you that to continue in that way, would not be plausible. If you have been reading the trade papers and if you have been mingling with film people, you have undoubtedly seen the handwriting on the wall. It is actually a fact that the Independent market has gone to smash….”
The twenty-three-year-old film maker Walt Disney was receiving his education in the movie business. Creators of movie entertainment, unless they controlled their own releasing companies, were at the mercy of the distributor. It wasn’t enough to be an original and creative artist, Disney learned; survival in the film business required a jungle toughness.
Despite Mintz’s pleas of poverty, he proposed a new contract at $1,500 per Alice, plus a fifty-fifty share of the profits after he had received $3,000 in film rentals. Mintz wrote to Walt: “This may seem a little hard to you, but before making any definite decision, I would advise you to digest this letter thoroughly, talk it over with Roy and your uncle or with whomever you wish, and don’t make any hasty decisions.”
Negotiations continued by mail and telegram for the next two months, with the letters from each side skirting the edge of acrimony. “If you think this is a fair arrangement, you have another think coming,” declared Mintz. Disney answered by telegram:
MY OFFER IS THE LIMIT I CAN GO STOP YOUR PROPOSITIONS ARE ALL UNACCEPTABLE TO ME STOP THEREFORE UPON THE DELIVERY OF THE NEXT SUBJECT THE FINAL ONE OF THE NINETEEN TWENTY FIVE SERIES I WILL CONSIDER ALL MY CONTRACTUAL OBLIGATIONS FULFILLED.
On February 8, 1926, after more counter-offers, Walt telegraphed a proposal which Mintz accepted. It was a variation on the terms they had discussed but it contained stipulations which were to be basic elements for the Disney operation of the future. Walt agreed to “make each picture in a high-class manner” and insisted that “all matters regarding the nature of the comedies are to be left to me.” He also stated that “should the idea, or name of Alice Comedies be exploited in any way, other than motion pictures, such as toys, novelties, newspaper strips, etc., it is agreed that we shall share equally in profits derived therefrom.” Most importantly, Walt’s proposition was “subject to my ownership of all trademarks and copyrights on Alice Comedies excepting only rights relating to the series which you purchased under past contracts.”
The new contract coincided with the move into the new studio on Hyperion Avenue in the Silver Lake district, a few miles from downtown Los Angeles. It was a one-story white stucco building on a sixty-by-forty-foot lot, with a partition between the offices of Walt and Roy and the rest open space occupied by animators and inkers and painters. Roy reasoned that a single name could have more box-office appeal and identification, and so the Disney Brothers Studio became the Walt Disney Studio.
Something else was added. Walt had worried that his youthful appearance was a drawback in his dealings with the movie world. When he and his fellow animators grew mustaches on a bet, he was pleased with his new look of maturity. The mustache remained.
A 1926 photograph of the Disney production team posing in front of the new Hyperion studio gives a picture of the spirit of the enterprise. All but one are transplanted Kansas Cityans, and they appear imbued with the atmosphere of their new land. All but Roy Disney are in their mid-twenties; four still have the mustaches they grew on the office bet, and they seem more mature—although Disney’s mustache gives him the look of a sober Charlie Chase. The young men are posing with their precocious star, Margie Gay (Virginia Davis’s parents had withdrawn her from the series to seek a dramatic career, with scant success). Margie stands on an upturned box topped with a stack of books. The men stand in a row, legs crossed like chorines posing. And in the Hollywood vogue of the Twenties, all wear knickers—or perhaps seem to, by tucking their trousers under long stockings. Their smiles are fixed and determined, revealing the righteousness of their cause.
They were indeed dedicated to their work of creating comedy cartoons. Having failed in Kansas City, Walt Disney was determined to make the Hollywood venture an ever-growing success, and he was almost messianic in his leadership of his staff. The others responded by devoting most of their waking hours to the studio. Yet Walt realized that drawing animated cartoons was tedious, wearying work, and he encouraged his artists to refresh themselves. A noontime baseball game was instituted in the vacant lot across from the studio. Some days Walt joined for an inning or two, although playing baseball was not one of his skills.
After two years of the Alice Comedies, Walt realized that the series was running down. The novelty of combining the playful little girl with cartoon figures had long before worn off, and it became increasingly difficult to integrate her into the cartoon action. Because Alice was not a basically comic figure, the bulk of the comedy had been assumed by Julius the cat.
Charlie Mintz wrote Disney on February 13, 1926: “Alice’s Mysterious Mystery…is just another picture and has nothing in it whatever that is outstanding. It is short both on live action and on the entire footage….as long as we are to do business together in the future, I think you will concede that I probably know a little more about what the market wants than you do….”
Disney to Mintz, March 1, 1926: “I agree with you in regard to the live action and will assure you that I will do everything I can to work for the betterment of the pictures. Wherever it is possible, I will bring the girl closer to the camera and try to insert more closeups when possible, without making the picture draggy or sacrificing funny business. I am only too glad to have you offer criticism on the pictures and anything you suggest will be given careful consideration. However, I want you to understand that it is almost a physical impossibility to make each picture a knockout, and I only hope that you will be fair enough to let me know when I have a good picture, as well as to tell me about the poor ones.”
Mintz to Disney, May 20, 1926: “You asked me some time ago to be fair with you and tell you when you made a good picture. Now, I will tell you that I think Alice the Fire Fighter is as good as anything you have turned out and per
haps a little better. I will also be fair with you a little more when I tell you that making good pictures as you are, you are your own worst enemy by either taking unqualified advice or refusing to take advice with a certain amount of past performances and sincerity behind it.”
Disney to Mintz, June 15, 1926: “I want to thank you for the compliment on Alice the Fire Fighter, and want to say right here that I will not be satisfied until I am able to make them all as good, or better. I am putting every effort toward this end and hope that in a very short time our average will be above them all. (Including Krazy Kat.)”
By the end of 1926 it was apparent that the Alice Comedies had run their course. Carl Laemmle, the aggressive founder of Universal Pictures, had told Mintz that he wanted a cartoon series starring a rabbit. Margaret Winkler Mintz suggested to her husband that Walt Disney might make such a series to replace Alice. Walt was enthusiastic about the idea, and he sent off rough pencil sketches of rabbit characters. “If these sketches are not what you want,” he wrote Mintz, “let me know more about it and I will try again.”
Universal approved the sketches, and the Disney company was authorized to make the first cartoon in the series, which Mintz named Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. In early April of 1927, Walt and his staff devised a plot of an overproductive rabbit and turned out the first cartoon, Poor Papa, on a rush schedule. The reviewing committee at Universal Film Exchanges in New York expressed disappointment, pointing out the faults:
“(1) Approximately 100 feet of the opening is jerky in action due to poor animation. (2) There is too much repetition of action. Scenes are dragged out to such an extent that the cartoon is materially slowed down. (3) The Oswald shown in this picture is far from being a funny character. He has no outstanding trait. Nothing would eventually become characteristic insofar as Oswald is concerned. (4) The picture is merely a succession of unrelated gags, there being not even a thread of story throughout its length.” The committee observed that with the exception of Charlie Chaplin, important movie comedians were “neat and dapper chaps.” Oswald should have been young and romantic; instead, he was elderly, sloppy and fat.