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Feature of the Month

Walt As Boss Walt As Boss
Was Walt Disney "the Boss from Hell"? Or its angelic opposite?

Opinions are decidedly divided on the subject in books and oral histories by former employees. And, as is often the case, they reflect as much upon the commentators as they do on Mr. Disney, who seems to have been a walking, talking Rorschach test for his workers' feelings toward him, both pro and con.

Also, many of the stories about Boss Walt have a "Rashomon" quality. That is, one finds the interpretation of a singular situation or character trait quite varied depending on who the participants or witnesses are. For example, Walt's well-known drive to create the best animated cartoons ever -- his high-octane desire to succeed -- was seen by some as overbearing, tyrannical, or ruthless. Others saw him as merely insensitive to the feelings of employees who were desperately trying to keep pace with him. To still others, however, Walt's driven, workaholic nature was an admirable trait that inspired his employees to reach or exceed their potential.

"There was a divergence of opinion about Walt among his troops," according to Jack Kinney, a top storyman and director of shorts at the Disney studio. Walt's staff, observed Kinney, included "those who revered him and those who saw him simply as a person, with all the faults, frailties and talents that make us human. Most of the hired hands at least respected Walt for his dedication and drive."

"I don't think you could say you liked or disliked Walt Disney," was the opinion of Bill Peet, one of Disney's finest storymen who, after leaving the Disney Studio, became a renowned children's book author/illustrator. "I don't think you could say you had a personal view of him. I think people's opinions of Walt changed from time to time, because if they were going good and he liked what they were doing, they decided he was great. And if he came down on them hard, they'd say he was a son of a bitch. You'd talk to them in a bar and you'd know damned well how they were doing by how they felt about Walt."

Peet himself had a volatile relationship with Walt, and often bristled at the criticism leveled at his storyboards. "He could needle you, OK," said Peet. "His sarcasm was pretty heavy at times ... Yes, he could be really brutal."

Walt As Boss Many other employees had a very different view of Walt. Without denying that he could be a tough taskmaster, they accented the pleasures of working with a uniquely gifted creative leader. Richard Huemer fell in that camp. "You couldn't help feeling awe in the presence of genius," the longtime animator, director, and story supervisor once claimed. "This is an actual physical feeling. It reaches out, it touches you, like electricity. Figuratively, we could feel him coming down the hall, our hair would stand on end, the backs of our necks would tingle."

Joe Grant, storyman/producer and one of Walt's closest creative associates, agreed. "There was a certain power when he came into a room -- electrifying." Grant, who started with Disney in 1937, vividly remembers Walt's "inspiring omnipotence." He recalls that in meetings with storymen, "you knew he was out for bear: 'What have you got for me?' His finger tapping indicated. 'Man, you haven't got it this time.'"

Both Grant and Huemer, who collaborated on the script for "Dumbo," among several other Disney films, saw Walt as a father figure. "The idea was not to please him," said Grant, "but to realize his ideas. He was very changeable. Every time you thought you had him he was on to something else."

To Huemer, Walt was "a very kindly man, a very fatherly guy in many ways. He started loan companies for his employees, instituted all kinds of incentive programs, and if you did a good job on a scene, you would get a bonus without asking or expecting it ... Walt was always willing to remunerate people for doing good work. He appreciated good animation."

Walt had a chronic smoker's cough and it served as a warning to alert his artists and staff that he was in the area. "You could hear him coughing," recalled Huemer. "Not that you were afraid of him. Nobody was afraid of Walt physically. When he came into a room and people jumped into their seats, he bawled them out: 'Don't be afraid of me! I don't want to see you jumping into your seat like that. If you ever do it again, you'll hear from me! Don't be afraid of me. I don't mind you standing around. If you feel restless, go out and walk in the garden!'"

Huemer compared Walt's positive attitude toward employees relieving their work tensions to that of rival studio producers: "I'd like to see you do that [take a break] in front of [Fred] Quimby [of MGM] or [Leon] Schlesinger [of Warner Bros.]. Those guys loved to see everybody at their [drawing] boards working as if in a sweatshop. Not Disney. He was the first one to introduce the idea of relaxing the grim grind on people. And as a result he got more work of them because they worked out of love for what they were doing."

But the work was hard and exacting and Walt always demanded the best from his artists. Animators in particular found themselves and their drawings most often under the direct, hot glare of Walt's intense scrutiny. Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston, two of Disney's best animators for over 40 years, once observed: "Walt never wanted to be told that he could not do something, especially if the reason was a technicality or restriction of production ... He could not tolerate a 'Yes man' at any time, but he bristled when he received any negative response. It brought his creative drive to an immediate halt."

Jack Kinney feared what he called Walt's "scare tactics" that "kept us on our toes ... He liked to play puppeteer -- juggling people around, pushing, reaching. Occasionally he would pat a guy on the back; the next day he'd ignore him. In the early days he referred to 'our' products; later on it was 'my pictures.' Walt had strong likes and dislikes and he could hold a grudge forever. The sad thing about his personality was that many artists had egos of their own that often clashed with his."

Walt rarely complimented his artists, and as the studio moved toward the production of "Snow White" and other feature-length animated films in the 1930s, his critiques of the work became more urgent and sharp. "With so much intensity in the air, and Walt's managing everything and the staff passing the thousand mark," noted Thomas and Johnston, "there were the inevitable iniquities and some disgruntled employees. Mainly the problem came from an individual's feeling left out or passed over. This produced a kind of bitterness or sullen attitude ...

"At times it was terribly hard to deal with Walt's exacting demands and often a proud young artist found himself becoming belligerent over some fault found in his work. It was not always criticism either; sometimes it was just the lack of a compliment that hurt the most. The majority of us had become accustomed to having our work criticized but we had never cared so much. Love and hate are closely allied. You hate only if you are deeply involved in something."

A rare instance of Walt's praise occurred at a "Bambi" screening of two minutes of test animation by Frank Thomas and Milt Kahl. Of the memorable meeting on March 1, 1940, Thomas wrote years later: "Walt seldom gave a direct compliment, letting us feel that sheer perfection was the standard he expected, but at this meeting he made an exception. After seeing the footage, he turned to the two animators with tears in his eyes and said 'Thanks, fellows. That's great stuff, no kidding. Those personalities are pure gold.'"

Walt's volatile mood swings kept his staff on their toes and on edge. "It was bandied about by the boys in the back room," joked Jack Kinney, "that Walt stopped in the studio basement on his way in to change into his mood costume for the day. These moods were known as 'The seven faces of Walt.'"

Bill Peet first witnessed a Walt mood change during a particularly long and frustrating story session for "Pinocchio." After tearing apart storyboard after storyboard, Walt finally found inspiration for his imagination in a sequence featuring the fox and the cat, who lead the wooden boy astray. In a flash he transformed himself from a chair-bound curmudgeon to a stand-up comedian, improvising sparkling bits of business and even choreography for the characters. "After seeing the gruff, overbearing Walt it was a refreshing turnabout to see the playful Walt in action," said Peet.

"Don't ever get too close to Walt," was studio production manager Ben Sharpsteen's advice to a number of newcomers. There was hardly a chance of that happening, according to Bill Peet. "Walt didn't want anything to be on a personal basis. He was an untouchable, for one thing ... He'd walk ahead of everybody down the hall for fear that somebody -- lapel grabbers, lint pickers, and tie-straighteners ... they'd get your hand and your elbow and work you over like a puppet.

"Walt couldn't stand that. He walked ahead going down the hall. He didn't want you alongside for fear you might put an arm on his shoulder. I used to see him walking across the lot by himself and staring at the ground. He could be jovial at times, but unless he was really into the work itself he was uncomfortable with people. If it got into a personal basis or a social level, he was very uncomfortable." Walt, according to Peet, "didn't want anything to get in the way of the work that would be personal."

Joe Grant saw more of Walt socially than most other employees. But their relationship, even on social occasions, was confined to business. "Whenever we went, we talked story," said Grant. "There was no such thing as 'out of hours' with Walt," recalled Ben Sharpsteen. "Every hour of the 24 in the day was part of his routine. He never had his work off his mind; he never had time set aside for play ... To be at leisure with Walt outside the studio was not to be at leisure. He was always preoccupied with the studio. It was his life."

In selecting artists to work together on a specific project, Richard Huemer noticed that "Walt had a trick of pitting men against each other that way. He loved that kind of conflict. In fact, it annoyed him when men got along together too well. He thought rivalry was good. It made sparks. It stimulated people." Joe Grant agrees with that assessment. "When two people were working together too closely [Walt would] chop 'em in half. Always a heart-rending thing." For five years, Grant collaborated happily with William Cottrell on story development for a number of Mickey Mouse and Silly Symphony shorts and key sequences in "Snow White." Then, in 1938, Walt asked Grant to form a new "Character Model" department and Cottrell went on solo to other projects.

Recalls Grant: "Disney had something within him: that if we got too chummy, too close, and maybe too successful, he'd break it up."

One faction of the artists felt "It didn't matter who you were, if you didn't see eye to eye with Walt, if you got too smart with him, you could kiss your job good-bye." However, others claim that Walt was always open to new and different ideas: "It was the person with the better idea who was on top, regardless of his job. Still, this recognition often survived only a day, as some other idea was embraced in the process of endless growth. The slang of the day had characterized the ideal hero with glowing, flaxen locks as 'the fair-haired boy' and at Disney's that role was apt to be so transient that the 'fair hair' was assumed to be an easily transferred wig. The employee wanting an update on developments in his projects would ask, as he arrived for work, 'Who's got the wig today?'

"This method worked because Walt was the boss -- not just because it was his studio or that he had the authority to get what he wanted, but because his ideas were the best." In their book, "Disney Animation -- The Illusion of Life," veteran animators Thomas and Johnston go a long way toward reaching an understanding of the ways of Walt: "It is important to realize that he was not in the animation business to make money. As he said, 'Money -- or rather the lack of it to carry out my ideas -- may worry me, but it does not excite me. Ideas excite me.'

" ... Each thing he did suggested something else, something new, something that had never been tried, something an audience might want to see. He realized that he could not explore those areas without better talent around him, so he was always adding to the staff. 'Never mind the classification, just get that guy in here.' Talent, ability, new ideas were the important matters."

"Regardless of political opinions or religious convictions or whatever," said Richard Huemer, "[Walt's] first consideration was what a person could contribute to the studio or the product. He was always willing to give the benefit of the doubt and [was] very liberal with those he employed. I think he would have used the Devil himself if he were a great animator."

"Walt didn't care what you were," reiterates Joe Grant. "He's always labeled anti-Semitic, anti-this, anti-that. It wasn't true," says Grant, who is Jewish. "Not true with him. It was talent that was important with him ... He was apolitical, really a political illiterate."

Until recently, the ranks of the employed in the animation industry were predominantly male. Women found work at Disney and the other "Golden Age" Hollywood cartoon studios mostly in the lower creative echelons, namely the Ink and Paint Department. Here the women carefully traced drawings of cartoon characters onto the front of transparent celluloid sheets and then tediously painted them on the back with opaque colors. Walt rarely visited the Ink and Paint area (also known by the animators as "The Nunnery"), so "It was always a thrill when Walt came by," recalled a former inker, Ann Lloyd. "He didn't come often, but he always came around Christmas with all these gifts." One Christmas, relate Thomas and Johnston, "when there was no work he gave the girls a week's vacation instead of laying them off. 'Walt was shy and uncomfortable around girls,' Katherine [Kerwin, former inker] adds affectionately, 'so they didn't see much of him, but they loved him and he appreciated how they helped him.'"

Walt's open attitude toward finding the right person to do the right job allowed the advancement during the 1930s and early '40s of four women to the higher creative departments at the studio. Walt once publicly defended his decision to move women into the positions of animator, assistant animator (also known as "inbetweener"), and story: "The girl artists have the right to expect the same chances for advancement as men and I honestly believe that they may eventually contribute something to this business that men never would or could."

Retta Scott broke through in animation by bringing to life a herd of vicious dogs in "Bambi"; Bianca Majolie was the first woman ever hired in the story department; and Sylvia Moverly Holland and Mary Blair made important contributions to the area of conceptual (or inspirational) sketches, the very first stage in the production of an animated film. Each women's experience at Disney was different, but all of them, except one, held positive feelings toward Walt, their boss.

Bianca Majolie experienced the most difficulty in adapting to work at the studio of any of the previously mentioned women, and thus had the shortest tenure: from 1935 to 1940. A coworker has described her as a "tiny, very introverted, lovely person. Very sensitive and delicate." She did not fit in with the rambunctious, often vulgar and bumptious "boys" in the story department and "did not enjoy the story conferences which called for action contributions of slapstick comedy gags."

Majolie found it difficult to deal with Walt's direct criticisms of her work in group sessions and the subsequent changes required by endlessly tearing apart storyboards, a necessary part of the job. At one conference in 1939, Walt told Majolie bluntly that he thought the continuity of the Sugarplum Fairies sequence wasn't right and he didn't approve of what she was doing. "She was so nervous when Walt would take off on one of these things she would throw up after the meeting each time," noted one observer. "Poor thing. Very nervous."

In contrast, Mary Blair thrived under Walt's leadership. She was his favorite conceptual artist and he allowed her to have a significant impact on the design and color of postwar Disney films for nearly 30 years. Her flat, childlike forms for characters, costumes, and settings and her gloriously unusual color palette inspired directors, layout artists, and animators of films such as "Saludos Amigos," "The Three Caballeros," "Song of the South," "Make Mine Music," "Melody Time," "So Dear to My Heart," "The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad," "Cinderella," "Alice in Wonderland," "Peter Pan," and several short cartoons, as well as exhibits, murals, and attractions at the Theme Parks Disneyland and Walt Disney World, most famously the it's a small world attraction.

In later years, Blair flew from her home in Long Island to California for meetings with Walt and production crews. In a 1971 interview she remembered Walt the Boss warmly as "one of the most wonderful men in the world. He was a family man, and he was willing to go along with all my commuting expense ... Walt had a great deal of courage in starting new projects and in encouraging talent. He knew talent when he found it."

Bio:
John Canemaker is an animator/designer/director, whose animation has appeared in films that have won an Academy Award®, an Ace Award, Emmy Awards®, and the Peabody Award. "Time" magazine has described Mr. Canemaker as "a leading historian of animation," for he is the author of six acclaimed books on the art, artists, and history of animation, including "Felix -- The Twisted Tale of the World's Most Famous Cat"; "Tex Avery: The MGM Years"; and "Before the Animation Begins -- The Art and Lives of Disney Inspirational Sketch Artists." His new book, "Hangin' Out the Wash: The Art and Artists of Disney Storyboards," was published by Hyperion in 1999. Mr. Canemaker is also a tenured professor and head of the animation program at New York University Tisch School of the Arts.


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