Clampett Letter

There was a comment made in The Great Foodini and Pinhead post of several days ago where it was speculated that the partial boards I put up may never have gotten as far as the actual animation stage; also, that the Bunins -- long-time puppeteers -- might be have been making an attempt to market their puppets. The astute and natural association was to bring to mind Bob Clampett and Beany and Cecil. With that, it seems as good a reason as any to post a letter that my dad received from Bob in response to inquiring about a job. This letter comes about a year- and-a-half after the Foodini job.

The response was just a tad late, as by the postmark my family was already back together again, in Los Angeles (one month at this point -- this, after living in NY and my dad having been back and forth between the coasts a few times, trying to get himself permanently established). And, of course, it was sent to my dad c/0 Paramount. Likely Paramount sent it back west with other correspondence. But that's the trite information. The meat is below, so I'll just get out of the way and let you read the letter for yourself. Comments and speculation always welcome.

Somewhat OT, but for clarification and the fact that I hate to let a great guy go forgotten, the Rabin that Bob mentions is Jack Rabin, a long-time and extremely close friend of my dad's from pre-WWII days. Jack was a fine artist, and I think might have been at Fleischer, because it's certain they knew each other in Miami. I think he was also one of a group of single Fleischer employees that rented a large house down there, on the edge of some glades, and as my dad told me a couple of times, "Sitting around on the big front porch after work, watching the sun go down, passing around a bottle, and having a really great time." Anyway, Jack got out of the animation racket soon after the war and went into animated film titles and live action effects (maybe the "live action" being how he was acquainted with Bob.) Eventually, I was at his office a couple of times in the late 60s-early-70s in Hollywood. Roger Corman had his own office in the same building. Each time we'd go past Corman's door, Jack would half-whisper to me, "That's Roger Corman's office. He's very successful in film." (or something close to that). I still get a laugh thinking about it now.