We continue to refute the rumor that will not die.  The latest issue of the otherwise excellent Alter Ego reports that, according to Al Feldstein at a recent San Diego convention, the actor Martin Landau assisted Wally Wood on some of his comic book work for EC.  This is not true.  I have it from Martin Landau's own, Oscar-winning lips that he never worked in comic books.  This is presumably another confusion with a comic book artist named Ken Landau who is no relation and certainly not the same person.

For more on this oft-screwed-up situation, see this Incessantly Asked Question, right on this here website.

Here's an excerpt from an e-mail that asks a question I've been getting often, as of late with regard to the movie, It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World…

I wondered if you could help me with a bit of info.  Is Santa Rosita a real place?  Does the Big "W" exist?  If I ever got to visit California is there any advice you could give me as to visiting any of the film locations?

Santa Rosita, home of Captain Culpepper, is not a real city.  Most of those scenes were filmed in and around Long Beach, California.  The park containing the Big "W" was constructed for the film on a piece of private real estate on a cliff in Palos Verdes, and the fabled four palm trees were transplanted there.  Today, at least two of them have fallen.  The "park" is part of a private arboretum which is not generally open to the public.  (A few fans have asked politely and gained access, but I'm told the owners of the property prefer not to have its landmark status publicized.)

I've heard from quite a few Mad World fans who have tracked down various shooting locations.  Some of those places are in the middle of nowhere; others have changed so much that nothing recognizable remains.  The most accessible unchanged location is probably the spot on Pacific Coast Highway, not far from Santa Monica Pier, where something called the California Incline leads down from Ocean Avenue.  This is where the scenes were filmed of all the stars getting out of and then rushing back into the taxis to pursue Spencer Tracy.  Also, several earlier scenes were filmed there, such as the one where the police escort cars leave Tracy alone.  If you go to Mapquest and do a search for "California Incline" in Santa Monica, CA, you'll see its whereabouts.

Jackie Mason was (past-tense) one of the greatest stand-up comedians but he has long since turned into someone doing a sad, unfunny impression of Jackie Mason.  In an attempt to hasten his descent into embarrassment, he co-authors occasional political columns with a lawyer named Raoul Felder.  They're not particularly clever and rarely in sync with reality, and I have to remind myself that, just because I once liked Mason, I don't have to read them.

The Washington Times — which is nearly incapable of criticizing a Republican or praising a Democrat — sometimes runs them.  They ran one the other day which included this line which I find incredible, even for a rabidly right-wing newspaper…

Remember the Paula Jones case? That was when Mr. Clinton, the president, supposedly the representative of the highest American values, was fined $1 million when he was convicted of sexual harassment.

Did I miss something?  I don't recall Bill Clinton being convicted of anything in that matter.  I recall the judge tossing Jones's case out of court as without merit.  Then, when it looked like it might get reinstated, Clinton settled out of court for $850,000.  Mason and Felder even got the amount of money wrong.

I'm kinda dismayed to see this in a real newspaper.  Did the editor not read it?  That would be gross incompetence.  Did he read it and think it was true?  Also, gross incompetence.  Did he read it, know it was untrue and print it anyway?  That would be pretty irresponsible.  An editorial page can present a wide range of opinions but those opinions are supposed to be based on some genuine facts.

It's also dismaying to see this coming from Jackie Mason, a man who has spent his career claiming — with some merit — that he'd been unjustly lied about.  He was effectively blacklisted when Ed Sullivan claimed Mason had made an "obscene gesture" on a broadcast.  He had bullets fired at him when it was erroneously reported he'd ridiculed Frank Sinatra in his act.  I seem to recall several other such incidents, including a paternity suit from a stripper.  (Mason claimed it was bogus.  Wonder if he settled out of court…)  Of all people, you'd think Jackie Mason would be certain that when you convict someone of wrongdoing, you have your facts right.

I doubt there will be a retraction or correction.  The Washington Times doesn't like to do that, and the column will not attract much attention, anyway.  I just felt I oughta remark that my low opinion of a once-admired comedian has hit rock-bottom.  (Here's a link to the entire column if you want to read it, God knows why.)

Josh Marshall's wonderful Talking Points website — oft-plugged here — has a new URL.  The new address is www.talkingpointsmemo.com.  Highly recommended, especially for making sense out of the Enron chaos.

I've never met Fred Hembeck.  We've corresponded occasionally but I don't think I've even spoken to him on the phone.  Still, I feel like I know the guy.

For one thing, my dumb articles and his clever cartoons have been turning up in the same comic book fanzines for a couple of decades.  For another, he's interested in all the same comics as I am…and interested in the same, strange aspects of them.  He sometimes does groaner puns like the above; other times, he offers personal, interesting insights that remind us why we like the comics we like.  You can find an array of Hembeck cartoons over at this website and it's well worth the trip.

The on-line magazine Salon, has been way out in front on the Enron brouhaha.  The other day, they came up with details on the aspect of this case that may cause the greatest amount of public outrage.  It's that, even as the company was declaring bankruptcy, laying people off and reneging on their severance packages, it was also doling out more than $55 million in bonuses to its top executives.  (Here's a link to the story.)

Someone once said — or someone should have said — that a scandal is driven by the simplest, one-line description of wrongdoing.  Nixon and his lieutenants covered up White House involvement in the Watergate burglary.  Reagan claimed his administration hadn't traded arms for hostages when, in fact, they had.  Clinton had an affair with an intern and lied about it.  In all three cases, there were extenuating explanations and all sorts of spins that could be put on the matter…but a large part of the public never got past the simple fact of wrongdoing as defined in one sentence.

Most of the Enron story is too complicated to make for a good scandal.  The public never got worked up over Whitewater, partly because so many accusations against the Clintons were unsupported but also because no one understood what they'd supposedly done wrong.  It didn't approach being a juicy, bring-someone-down scandal until it morphed into the easily-explainable Monica mess.  Enron is becoming very easy to explain in layman's logic: The company went kablooey, the investors and employees got screwed but the top guys all ran off with millions apiece.  That's all most people have to hear.  There are explanations and rationalizations.  "Retention bonuses" — paying top execs to remain aboard a sinking ship — may be oily but they are not unprecedented and probably not illegal.  No matter.  The one-liner on this one is bad enough that it can't be explained away…a fact that seems to be lost on the few Enron execs who aren't invoking the Fifth Amendment.  The one who testified on Thursday was like a murderer standing amidst the bodies, holding the bloody knife and saying, "Wait…I can explain!"

The question is whether the Enron one-liner will be expanded to include George W. Bush or replaced by a one-liner about him — i.e., "Bush arranged for legislation or government neglect that allowed his pals to loot the company."  So far, there's no solid evidence of that and I'm still skeptical there ever will be.  But if one of those sentences ever becomes the least bit credible, this could make Watergate look like an overtime parking violation.

Important, possibly prescient article by Paul Krugman over at The New York Times.  It deals with something we've alluded to on this site — that other companies may soon go the way of Enron.  But of course, we're just guessing, whereas Krugman seems to know what he's talking about.  Here's your link.

Yes, we still think Enron will not harm Bush directly.  But if a couple more companies go bust like that, it will not take much to make most of America hate overpaid CEOs more than they now hate guys named Osama.  And to the extent that the Democrats can link George W. to such profiteers — and possibly, given his past business ventures, paint him as one — he could suffer some pretty potent body blows.

Thousands of years ago, I had one of those strange, "guilty pleasure" interests in The Price Is Right.  This evening, after watching its prime-time, 30th anniversary special, I am at a loss to explain why I ever found Bob Barker particularly charming — and this was before I ran into the man in a car wash on Highland Avenue.  We were waiting for our respective autos to be laundered and I made some ha-ha hilarious joke about how I hoped he wasn't going to tip the attendant in Plinko chips.  It was a silly remark but from his reaction, you'd have thought I'd just spit up on his Guccis.

That encounter did not sour my interest in his show.  Rather, I think it was its endless repetition, coupled with that occasional moment when a certain contempt for its audience would leak out around the edges.  Some of the stories about Mr. Barker offstage — rumored and reported — also made it harder to view his "I'm so wonderful" act as performed with a twinkle.  (A recent episode of the E! True Hollywood Story obsesses on some of the uglier escapades.)  He reminded me of another performer of whom it was once said, "He does nothing but he's so successful at it, he's convinced himself he's brilliant."

Tonight's Price Is Right special bored me and got me to wondering why I ever tuned in.  Part of it, I know, was the sheer professional expertise on display.  Once upon a time, if you'd gone to a network and pitched the 60-minute Price Is Right, describing the prizes you'd be dispensing and how you'd be getting them on and off the stage, they'd have told you it was impossible.  That show could not be done five times a week — too ambitious, too costly, too complicated.  Some very brilliant producers and directors figured out how to make it work.  (An even more interesting show than the one they tape is the one that goes on backstage, watching stagehands juggle refrigerators and Buicks.)  I also liked the original announcer, Johnny Olson, and the earlier "Barker's Beauties," who performed seemingly trivial on-camera duties with amazing skill.

Most of all, I think I liked the pure spirit of fun that permeated the show — just ordinarily folks enjoying themselves, having perhaps the greatest thrill of their lives without enduring the embarrassment on which so many game shows thrive.  Those other programs feature contestants who have endured a lengthy pre-screening procedure that somehow makes them behave like professional contestants.  The Price Is Right has only a minimal selection process and plucks its competitors right out of the studio audience.  It all seemed so spontaneous back then.  Somehow, tonight, it seemed like both host and players were performing stale rituals.  Bob basked in the radiance of the applause and trotted out the hoary clip of the lady whose top fell down on camera.  (There are episodes of I Love Lucy that have been rerun less often.)  But he didn't utter one witty, original remark…or anything that sounded the least sincere.

Over at CBS, I'm told, a frequent topic is who, if anyone, will replace the 79-year-old host when he steps down or drops in his tracks.  I don't know that anyone will but, after tonight, I suspect that almost anyone could.

A total stranger was nice enough to send me this photo of Anthony Perkins polishing a 1957 Thunderbird.  He did this because he'd heard that I own a 1957 Thunderbird which I bought from Mr. Perkins and he'd assumed it was the same car.  Is it?  Well, let's consider the evidence…

Perkins told me that he was the original owner of the car I bought from him in 1981.  Of course, that doesn't mean he didn't own two '57 Thunderbirds or that he even owned the car he's polishing in the above pic.

He also told me he that in several movies, he drove the car he was selling me.  That may be significant because it suggests he didn't drive some other T-Bird in those films and was therefore likely to be photographed with the one that's now in my garage.

The car I bought was light blue.  (The Ford people called it "robin's egg blue")  The T-Bird in the above photo certainly looks to me like it could be light blue.  On the other hand, whether it does or not may not matter.  When I had some body work done on it, they stripped it down to the metal and told me it had originally been light blue, then had been repainted at least four times — at least twice in other colors — before being painted back to light blue by the fellow who restored it for Perkins before I bought it.

As you'll note, the car above sports a New York license plate.  Perkins was born in New York but came out to Hollywood and began making movies in 1953.  By the time the '57 Thunderbirds came out, he was shooting films like Fear Strikes Out and Friendly Persuasion — all in Los Angeles.  Of course, he could have maintained a residence in New York, registered the car there and later had it shipped out here.  When I bought mine, it had California plates that had been issued in the mid-sixties.  (It sat in a garage for most of the seventies.)

So, whadda ya think?  Am I outta line to say that's probably my car in the picture?

Anyone still interested in what happened with the presidential vote in Florida?  If so, you'll want to read this article by John Dean over on Salon.

Pretty funny column from Michael Moore this week.  Click right here, folks.

Fatburger and I got started the same year ('52) and in the same city.  One of us became a TV and comic book writer; the other became a chain of (currently) around 50 fast food outlets in California, Arizona, Nevada and Washington.  The first was down on Western Avenue but for most folks, the "real" Fatburger was a tiny shack erected on a small island where La Cienega Boulevard crosses San Vicente.  It marked one end of a stretch of La Cienega known as Restaurant Row — theoretically, an assemblage of the best places to dine in Los Angeles.  That was truly not the case.  Apart from Lawry's and — before it burned down — Ollie Hammond's Steak House, the line-up along the street was one failed enterprise after another.  So many went down (or up) in flames that Restaurant Row came to lose its meaning.  There are still tiny signs up that denote it but I'll bet if you said to most folks who've moved to L.A. in the last twenty years, "Let's go to Restaurant Row," they'd say, "Where's that?"

Before the boulevard lost its status, it used to amuse me that the steadiest, most popular enterprise of Restaurant Row was not some plush gourmet dining room but the run-down, falling-apart, frequented-by-junkies Fatburger shack.  It was open 24 hours and I'd sometimes find myself there at 4 AM, always having to wait in line to wolf down a juicy, hard-to-handle burger.  Sometimes, I'd get there at Onion Time. Once or twice a day, the newest employee would get stuck chopping up onions and, if the wind was whipping west-to-east through the shed and you approached the ordering window on the east side, it was like a faceful of tear gas.

But you know what?  A Fatburger was still worth the risk.

Today, I've cut my beef consumption down to around the volume of one cocktail frank per week.  An investment group fronted by Earvin "Magic" Johnson has acquired the whole Fatburger chain, with plans to make it as ubiquitous as McDonald's.  And the outlet at La Cienega and San Vicente has been shut down tighter than the latest Ellen DeGeneres sitcom.  I find it sad, in a way.  I wasn't going to that or any other Fatburger any longer…but, like the playground of your childhood, it was somehow comforting to see it there.

Marvel Comics has recently pulled out of the Comics Code, that "self-regulatory body" formed by most of the comic publishers back in the fifties.  One wonders why it took until this century for a major publisher to do so.  The Code perhaps had its purpose at the time.  Comic books were under fire with distributors and newsstands souring on the very format, and even laws being proposed which would have imposed government banning or regulation of "those awful books."  Self-regulation is always better than having it imposed from outside…but the union of ostensible competitors had its moral shortcomings, as well.

John Goldwater, who was the head of Archie Comics, was the main champion of the effort and some — well, Jack Kirby, for one — called it "…a way of letting Goldwater approve whatever was published.  If he didn't like it, it didn't get on the stands." It has also been noted that, from the day the Code was established, newsstand comic racks were controlled by the publishers who founded the Code.

Western Publishing and Dell Comics split their cooperative venture into two separate lines…but otherwise, not one single "new" comic book company ever had a prayer of getting decent distribution, Code or no Code. This persisted until decades later when direct sales marketing emerged, by-passing traditional independent distribution.

Whatever, the Code outlived its usefulness long ago.  A lot of folks think it did enormous damage to the content of comic books.  I'm not sure it did.  I think the real harm was in killing competition on the newsstands…which, in turn, may have been one of the things that killed the newsstands.

The TV Biz is buzzing with word that Fox wants a piece of the late night moola and is hoping to steal Conan O'Brien from NBC.  And if they can't get Conan, they'll settle for either Jon Stewart or Bill Maher.  As it happens, all three are under contracts soon to run out.

What's going on?  The fact that this story is out is probably an indicator that one of those guys wants to put some pressure on his current employer.  The goal is not to move, but to get a much better deal to stay put…and they all probably will.  Of the three, Maher is the most likely to leave his current situation, but it's not very likely and it's not because of any Fox offer, if indeed there would even be one.  I'm not sure this whole story isn't a media exaggeration and that the only true part is that Fox has had a few conversations with Mr. O'Brien's people.  My guess is that, when the dust settles, all three hosts will be right where they are…but Stewart and Maher will be a little richer and O'Brien will be a lot richer.  (He deserves it, too.  His show is terrific…)

Speaking of scandal-ridden stories: At the aforementioned memorial service, I fell into a conversation with comedians and comedy writers about the whole Enron saga — a chat that was interesting because it was utterly non-partisan and not even about whether laws were broken.  It was about whether the Bush Administration has mismanaged things with regard to allowing the scandal to become a topic for comic fodder.  The unanimous consensus was that they have.

Everyone in government does dumb things but some do not gain eternal life by becoming punch-lines and some do.  "I never inhaled" was not the least ingenuous thing a presidential candidate every said…not even the least candid thing Bill Clinton said that year.  But it became monologue legend, whereas Ronald Reagan, claiming that scenes from war movies had actually happened, did not.  George W. Bush mispronouncing "subliminal" is eternally enshrined, whereas dozens of verbal gaffes by all candidates are not.  (Anyone remember Paul Tsongas getting his wife's name wrong?  I didn't think so.  For that matter, anyone remember Paul Tsongas?  But his misidentification of Mrs. Tsongas somehow didn't inspire comedy, even during that week Americans knew who he was.)

Dick Cheney being eternally in an "undisclosed location" and/or having weekly heart attacks is funny.  So is Bush fainting from eating a pretzel.  So is Bush's sidestep from "Kenny Boy" to "Who is Kenneth Lay?"  It isn't that these are scandals; just that they end the honeymoon and wound Bush's ability to claim that his administration is any different from the preceding one.  Has any president in our memory not had a couple of close friends who got mixed up in crooked money deals?  Has any administration not had to stonewall over some Congressional inquiry and then give in and tell all?  Neil Bush even shows signs of surfacing and carrying on in the grand tradition of Billy Carter, Roger Clinton and other embarrassing presidential brothers.

The Enron scandal may or may not lead to actual charges of illegal action within the Bush administration.  That will hinge on smoking guns, if any, yet to be found and perhaps on whether it was the first of many to plunge.  (Anyone taken a look lately at the stock price of Cheney's beloved Halliburton Industries?  Makes K-Mart look like a hot ticket.)  But it has certainly helped us to fill out the full complement of running gags about the Bush-Cheney White House.  Some things just don't change.