Post by 1940svintage on Aug 28, 2015 12:25:26 GMT -5
(To start off, I re-inserted several of the deleted scenes, because I felt they belonged back in the story as a whole. Secondly, the Great-Uncle George and his wife, Margaret mentioned in the story actually existed. I'm related to him through Margaret, who was my maternal great aunt. You can read all about him here: name/nm0470685/ )
No Toons were harmed in the writing of this story.
Here goes nothing:
I remember that it was Thursday, August 14th, 1947. But before you interrupt me asking how that's possible, hear me out.
The ranch house in Thousand Oaks, California was light and airy. All clean lines and open spaces, with a design reminiscent of the late Art Deco period. It was one story, with a formal and an informal living room. I sat in the formal living room on a shiny cream leather sofa, nervously facing my great uncle.
Of course, he didn't know he was my great uncle- yet. That was a big part of the reason I sought him out. He was a formidable looking man about 6 feet tall, with a receding hairline, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye that softened his demeanor. Wearing a lightweight grey suit with broad, peaked lapels that went quite well with a pastel blue shirt and silvery grey Art Deco tie, he was the picture of a successful artist and animator.
Of course, this was a first impression. I never knew him in my own time; he died a decade before I was born. My mom knew him better, and would probably be appalled at my first impression of her uncle, but I was incredible nervous, and a little bit intimidated.
I was nervous because he, George Kreisl, was probably the only person who'd take me seriously enough to help me get home.
"You're my only hope to get home, Mr. Kreisl. Without your help, I might as well kiss my home goodbye. Can you help me," I begged, "Please?"
He gulped, slightly, and said, "Young man, if you really claim that I'm your only hope to get home, I'll try my hardest. What exactly is the problem?"
"This is a bit of a whopper. I think you might just lock me up in the local nuthouse," I said, with a small, apologetic smile.
"I work with cartoons for a living. I go home and have hallucinations half the time. I don't think you could say anything that can shock me."
"I don't really know where to start," I said, shifting in my seat uncomfortably, "Nothing is quite right to explain what happened to me – and don't get me wrong, this has to do with you, too. Indirectly, of course…."
"Go on," he said. I continued, "This may sound like something out of 'Ripley's Believe it or Not', but I….. somehow I was thrust backward in time thanks to a pair of spats." I noticed his eyes narrowing so I quickly continued," T-the…er… the spats were in an old suitcase I found. There were things from your house. H-here, " I said, sweeping my arm around the elegantly furnished formal living room, "This.. house…."
He said nothing, so I said, "This next bit will be harder to swallow: I'm your great nephew. Your wife's little brother is my maternal grandfather. I know Pop-pop…I mean..Rudy.. is only 8 years old now, but look carefully, " I said, slowly taking off my glasses, "Can you see any family resemblance?"
He said, slowly, considering it, "I see a resemblance. But do you have any proof? How do I know you're not a lunatic? Not that I truly think you're a lunatic! I'd just like some proof that you are who you say you are." He furrowed his brow.
Suddenly, I remembered my learner's permit, and I fished out my wallet. Handing it to him, I said, "Here, look. It says my name, address, date of birth. All that stuff. If this isn't proof, than I don't know what is."
He was silent for a moment as he studied it. I was afraid he'd accuse me of faking it, but he said nothing. Handing it back to me, he said, "Well, you are who you say you are. I suppose you should start calling me Uncle George, then. Now, about those spats…. Do you have them with you? I think I might know the ones you mean."
Breathing a sigh of relief, I took them out of my pocket. They were a pair of gleaming white cartoon spats. Their real-life counterparts were used as a swanky accessory, meant to be worn over the shoes, from the 1800s to the late 1930s. Handing them to him, I was delighted to see a flash of recognition on his face.
He said, "I had a bad feeling you were talking about these spats. There was a good reason these were hidden among my old things."
My smile disappeared, "Don't look so downhearted," he said, "I can probably figure out what happened: you put the spats on, presumably as a finishing touch to your costume- am I right? I'm guessing that you people in 2015 don't dress like we do today," he said, looking over my grey double breasted suit and wool felt fedora. His gaze lingered, somewhat disapprovingly on my red candy-striped shirt and equally loud tie; red on one half, a line of dots with a white background on the other.
"That's pretty much it. I love vintage clothing. The styles of my day are comfortable and casual, but I love the look and feel of the 40s style," I said.
"And, "he continued, smiling, "You must have clicked your heels, like in 'The Wizard of Oz' and you wound up here. You must have, even if you didn't realize it. That's now the spats work."
"Yeah," I sheepishly admitted, "But it was an accident. If I knew I was going to be stuck here, I never would have clicked them!"
Uncle George chuckled, saying "I'm sure you didn't. But I'm guessing you tried to go back the same way you got here?"
"Yes," I said, "And it didn't work. And I'm guessing that you know why? Because if you do, that's what I came here to ask you. I mean, imagine my shock when, on top of realizing I was trapped in the past, I see a bunch of Loony Tunes characters walking down Sunset Boulevard! And why did I end up there? Why this date? Why-"
He cut me off, but gently, "Patience, my boy, patience. First, to understand the way these spats work, you'll have to understand about the way Toons are drawn to life."
I sat forward, eager to hear what he had to say.
"It's not as exciting as it sounds," he began, " New Toons are drawn almost every day. I forgot how they used to do it, but back about 10…12 years ago, they began using multiplane cameras to animate Toons. You insert the cel- animation cels. They're ink and paint sketches of scenes or characters drawn on transparent celluloid," he said, when he saw that I had no idea what he meant, "Anyway, you insert the cel drawing of the Toon, and the camera projects and animates it. They work by rotating layers of sketches, frame-by-frame to form a complete picture. Then, voice actors are used to give the Toon a voice, which sometimes has to be changed, as the sound starts to fade like an old record: hence the need for voice actors. Foley artists are also used to give the Toon unique sounds when he, she or it moves. "
He paused to take a breath, and continued, "They used some sort of a projector back before Disney's camera, I think, which is why the majority of cartoons back then were silent. But this was all before my time. My first characters were a group of about seven or so weasels for 'The Adventures of Ichabod Crane and Mr. Toad". Now they've been made the top law enforcement agency in Toontown. They call themselves the Toon Patrol, or something like that. They're the henchmen…or, henchweasels, rather, for the Chief Justice of Toontown, Judge Doom." George continued, "Horrible man, if you ask me. Word was that he bought the election. It begs the question as to why such a cold and merciless man would want to be the presiding judge of a town of goofy characters. But they're the only type of police force there now. I'm not sure how the city could have made them into an official organization, considering they're gangsters with badges."
"Wait…back up for a second…you drew the Toon Patrol to life?" I stared at him, mouth nearly agape.
I could hardly believe my ears that George Kreisl would have anything to do with drawing those nasty weasels to life. In the film (Who Framed Roger Rabbit, that is) , there were five weasels: Smartass, Greasy, Wheezy, Stupid and Psycho.
Smartass wore a pink double breasted suit and fedora, and spoke in a classic New York accent, albeit a whiney one. Awful grammar, too. Constantly used malapropisms, such as "deformants" instead of "informants".
Greasy was the most lustful out of the weasels in the film. He spoke with a husky Spanish accent and wore an acid green zoot suit, with black and white spectator shoes. He usually carried around a switchblade.
Wheezy was dressed more like a card shark; rumpled white shirt, grey tie and vest, with a porkpie fedora. He was a chain smoker, often being seen with three in his mouth at once, and more tucked in various hiding spots on his person. He was an unusual blue-grey color, and his fur was nicotine stained.
Psycho had wild, spiky fur, and wore a loosened straightjacket. He has yellow and orange swirly eyes and carried a straight razor. He had a high, lilting voice, and giggled a lot.
Stupid was the dumb one. He had one long tooth that jutted out of his mouth, and wore a blue stripes shirt that rode up on his belly. On his head was a red and yellow beanie. He carried a baseball bat imbedded with a nail that he mainly used to whack himself over the head. On his feet were red untied sneakers.
The other two weasels that Uncle George mentioned could only be the two that were cut out of the film: Slimy and Flasher. Slimy looked more like a 1950s greaser, with an oily pompadour and a leather jacket open over his deep brown fur. Slime dripped from his nose, paws and feet, and possibly his mouth. Flasher wore a trench coat and a backwards baseball cap. You can guess why he was called Flasher. (In truth, he wasn't displaying anything: he did it for the shock value. But he had on a gaudy pair of boxers patterned with Valentine hearts). With the two ones cut out, the seven were whittled down to five in the film, but in the real world, their numbers were increased. Judge Doom and the Seven Weasels, I guess. That wouldn't make a very good Disney film, now would it?
"Yes, I drew the Toon Patrol to life." he said, "As a matter of fact; those spats belonged to the leader of the group. I don't recall his name."
"Smartass," I supplied, nodding my head slightly.
"That's his name!" he shouted, triumphantly, but said, confused, "How do you know that? I never labeled the spats. Are the weasels well known in your time?"
"Well, no," I began, "not for their work as law enforcement in Toontown. They were known for their role in a film called "Who Framed Roger Rabbit"."
"Roger Rabbit?" asked Uncle George, "You don't mean RK Maroon's star?"
"Yeah," I said, getting excited about the fact that my favorite movie was real, "That's exactly who I mean. They're the secondary villains in the film, and thanks to what you just told me, I now know that it actually happened. Or will happen, later today, based on today's date, and the date given in the film."
"Well," said Uncle George, "Whatever role they'll play in whoever framed Roger Rabbit, you'll have to know that I wasn't the one who named those weasels. Walt asked me to draw a group of tough-guy weasels for some last- minute touches on "Ichabod Crane and Mister Toad'. This was my first little tiff with Disney, because he had me draw them entirely new wardrobes! He and I had very different definitions of what a tough-guy Toon should look like. I drew them as gangsters, but Mr. Disney didn't want them to look like gangsters, so he asked me to draw some simple flat caps and raggedy shirts for them, like dockworkers, or something. They changed outfits as soon as we began filming."
"That's odd… I know for a fact that "Ichabod Crane and Mr. Toad" was released in 1949. That's 8 years from when you say you worked on it," I pointed out.
"Yes…. Disney plans to release it in a few years. We would have released it after the filming was done, but it was delayed due to both the outbreak of the War, and a few other reasons."
"What other reasons?" I asked, curious to know.
"There was an….unfortunate accident on the stage next door to ours. They were wrapping up filming "Bambi", when the Toon playing the hunter- a rather ugly one named Baron VonRotten- was accidentally shocked by one of the multiplane cameras and, when he finally regained consciousness; he actually believed he was a villain! He went around the other sound stages wreaking all kinds of havoc, and disappeared into Toowntown shortly after that I don't know what's become of him."
"Oh…" I said. I knew instantly the Toon he meant, but I wasn't going to say anything. Not then, at least.
He continued, "I knew that the Weasels, also, would be trouble pretty soon after we were finished filming. But they can't help it. They were drawn that way, as villains." He sighed, and said, "At any rate, what you told me about where you ended up explains why Smartass left them with me. He just discarded them after filming was over. I see he found another pair to wear," he said, with a hint of distaste.
"So how do they work?"
"They're designed to return themselves to their original owner, where they live. You ended up right near the entrance of Toontown, though on this exact date, I don't know why. I don't think they'll go into Toontown. The physics in our world and in Toontown are enormously different, to say the least. Since they were drawn in the real world, but using the limited Toon physics that have a foothold here, they only worked partway, which was probably why the boss weasel discarded them."
"They were created here, so they only could take him as far as the entrance to Toontown. If I were to draw a new pair, and dedicate the drawing to you, the spats should, in theory, work for you and bring you back to almost exactly wherever it is you were…ah...zapped from." He chuckled a bit, But, I think, in all seriousness, I should be able to send you home within a week. If you like," he added, "I could make them work as a round trip, so you can come back here as often as you like."
I could hardly believe my ears. He found a way to send me home, almost straight away! And I could come back to my favorite decade if I wanted to?
"Thank you so much, Uncle George!" I felt like hugging him, but I figured that would be awkward, so I just grinned.
"It's really no problem," Uncle George said, "But, I'm not exactly sure when I can get the chance to do it. They have several new skits that need a new load of characters drawn to life. It may take a while. You can stay here if you like, until we can get you back to where you belong."
"Thank you! Oh, but…. First, I think I have a job to do," I said, thinking that I could very well get in on the action that the film was based on. No fan could possibly get to do what I was about to do!
But Uncle George misunderstood me."Well, there's an opening at the studio as a storage clerk, I think."
"Actually, Uncle George, I have another job in mind. Do you know the address for Valiant and Valiant, in LA?"
"The detective agency? Hold on. I think I have a business card somewhere," he said as he got up and retrieved his business card holder.
When he returned, he handed me a coffee-stained white card which read "Valiant and Valiant, Private Investigators." Below it, the address: "1130, South Hope Street, TEL: MAdion-3529".
"You can keep it," he said, "I have several others."
I said, barely able to contain my excitement as I put on my hat, "I think I'll head there right away!"
"Now wait a minute, just..wait! You don't mean you actually intend to interfere with this business- whatever it is- with Roger Rabbit and the Toon Patrol?"
I slowly began to sit down, "Yeah… why? Is there a problem?" But instantly, I saw there was a problem. A very big one.
"Well, for starters, Los Angeles nearly 40 miles away; an hour away from my house. And let's not even get started on the fact that Toontown has a dangerous underground. You could get hurt if you stick your nose in where it doesn't belong."
My smile began to fade. "I hitchhiked up here, and I could do the same on the way to LA… but you're right… I guess I was just excited, because the film that used whatever is going to happen in the next few days as its basis is my all-time favorite movie." Sheepishly, I grinned and took my hat off. George sat back in his chair, and said,
"Well, tell me what "all of this" is about. If this is as serious as you make it sound, Adam, I'm curious to hear about it."
So I told him, without going into too much detail, as I'm prone to doing, the entire plot of "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" as simply as I could: "The film centers around alcoholic P.I, Eddie Valiant, who is hired by animator RK Maroon to take compromising pictures of RK's star Roger Rabbit's wife Jessica "playing patty cake"- literally, as it turns out- with Toontown's owner Marvin Acme. But things get screwy when Acme's will turns up missing and Judge Doom and the Toon Patrol start accusing Roger of murdering Acme. Eddie has to also try to save both the Red Car line of trolleys and Toontown from destruction by a company called Cloverleaf, find Acme's will and clear Roger's name. In the end, it's revealed that Doom owns Cloverleaf, and is behind it all, and wants to destroy Toontown and the Red Car line to build a massive highway. He's also a psychotic Toon in disguise, by the way. Based on what you've told me, it's all true, and is going to happen in the next three days!"
He looked like he was struck by lightning. "If this is all true, you must get involved! Toontown must be saved at all costs! It's already 10 am, so if you want to catch that Valiant man, you'll have to do it now. Come," he said, getting out of his chair. "I'll drive you there on my way to work."
We both climbed into his car, a gorgeous '45 Pontiac Streamliner in white and blue, and drove the way I came (I can't remember much more than that. We were deeply involved in the following conversation, so I don't know which way we went).
"I wish I knew the best way to help you with this," George said, "But I'm not exactly an expert on Toontown, nor on Toon physics. No one is, with the sole exception of Toontown's owner, Marvin Acme. This isn't an exact science, you understand. Bringing a Toon into existence, and the mechanics the 'death' of a Toon are still a mystery. Some sort of psychobabble with quantum physics, or something."
After a long pause, I asked, "What does a Toon physically feel like? Do they have a weight? A texture? Or do they feel like the ink and paint they're made of?"
"It's difficult to explain. They have a weight to them, though, for some of the smaller Toons, it's very slight. They don't look two-dimensional, though. It's..it's really something you'll have to experience for yourself. It's amazing, actually. But they feel, too. They know what pain and heat and cold feel like because that's how they're drawn. They aren't really living things, but they're made to be like they are. Whatever the role demands of them, they do, which is how they can feel. We don't….project our own emotions onto them, but they already come with them. They're alive, and they exist, but not in the sense of you or I. They love, they hate, they feel emotions, but not like humans, because they're not….born. They're drawn, and whatever notes the animator makes on the concept sheets get incorporated into the design. That's why some Toons are good and some Toons are bad. It's really how they're drawn. It brings into question one's views about life as a whole, doesn't it?"
"That must be why they're a….basically a repressed minority now," I said, " That also might be why I had to go 68 years in the past to hear about them. Maybe the people of my own time didn't want people to know about them, because of the physically impossible things they can do that humans can't do: because people could be scared of some kind of stupid potential uprising. Can you imagine it?"
"I never really thought about it that way. But Toons are made to make people laugh. They're comedians. Actors. How can people think they'd start an uprising, or some other stupid thing?"
"Ask the people who don't allow Toons in most of the establishments in LA. It's segregation, really."
"I have to agree with you on that, my boy. But you know, they're near and dear to every American out there. They know how to make people laugh." By that point, we were almost in LA, and I didn't even realize it."Toons," he continued, "don't have much…footing in this world. They're, as you said, a minority. Laughter is what they know best. It's their tool, their weapon to be of some influence in this crazy world of ours. Without laughter, they're nothing, really. We're nothing, too. Laughs can make us human, if you really think about it."
"Maybe that's also why Toons die of too much laughter: because they're just not human."
We were quiet for quite a number of minutes. Nearly 20, before he spoke again.
"Quite true. It's an almost godlike complex, making these Toons come to life. They're like children, pure, and innocent, and made to convey something pure and innocent. If people took advantage of something like that, where would the world be? It would be wrong. It would also be like taking advantage of ourselves, which we successfully manage to do anyway, in this second year of the atomic age. Laughter does make us human. It's what makes us…well, us. If we had no laughter, no joy, or happiness or love, would we still be human? Maybe that's the reason for these cartoons. To make us laugh, and make us feel human. To recapture that essence of pure love and joy when we were children with cartoons. The love and security and the laughter. If that very essence of humanity were taken away, where would we be? People need to laugh, and be happy. That's why Toontown is as important to us as we are to it."
Maybe that's also why Doom wants to destroy Toontown, I thought. In addition to his plot to destroy the Red Car line- LA's public transportation system of trolley cars- and make way for a freeway where Toontown currently stands.
"It's a grim thing to be thinking about," he continued, "It's also something that can really make you question the boundaries of life and all that philosophical stuff. Not something I really want to think about before I head to work. Speaking of, we're almost at Valiant and Valiant's," he said, pulling to a stop at the intersection of South Hope Street and 11th avenue.
"Do you need any money? Do you feel all right by yourself here?" he asked, concerned.
I said that I'd be fine, and as far as money was concerned, he didn't have to, but I would take whatever he could spare. He handed me twenty dollars. You, dear reader, must be thinking what a cheapskate my great uncle is for giving me twenty bucks, but you have to remember that a twenty spot went a very long way in a year where public transportation was a nickel and most meals were 50 cents.
We parted ways, and he drove over to Disney Studios in Burbank. The street was crowded, bustling with people and gorgeous old cars, so it was a bit of a challenge to make it to what I recognized as Eddie's building. It really did look the way the movie portrayed it, South Hope Street. Everything bathed in midmorning sunlight, the people going about their business, and the Red Cars clanging along the tracks.
I, admittedly, felt scared, being all alone in an unfamiliar city, 68 years in the past at that… But I felt a sense of duty to try to help as much as I could, so I soldiered on towards the building where Eddie Valiant's office was. Now, I would have called ahead, but I don't think Eddie would have been in his office at that time. He was probably headed to the Terminal Bar on 6th avenue and South Hope Street, where his girlfriend, Dolores worked.
With incredible luck, I saw who I presumed was Eddie Valiant (He was very nearly the spitting image of Bob Hoskins! The movie producers sure got an A-1 lookalike to play him in the film!) heading into the Terminal Station Bar after throwing his mail in a nearby trashcan, and crossing the street.
I thought I could pass for someone older than I actually was, especially with how I was dressed, so I don't think I'd get kicked out if I went into a bar. Heck, even though I was only 17, I doubt the patrons would have cared. Dolores might, maybe, but she'd be too distracted demanding what happened to the second half of the hundred dollars Eddie owes her, or griping about someone wanting continuous re-fills of their beer.
With mounting confidence, I crossed the street and climbed the stairs, under the flickering neon sign for the bar. Just as I was up the stairs, the ceiling lights sparked and flickered and a trolley roared by. God, how could these guys stand it here with all this noise, I thought to myself.
Soon, Eddie stormed past me just as I was about to enter. Well, hello to you too. Guess I'll talk to him later. I entered the bar, and arrived just in time to see what made Eddie mad: Angelo, an obnoxious mechanic teased Eddie about working for Toons. "What's his problem?" asked Angelo, chewing the rest of the hardboiled egg that Eddie shoved in his mouth.
"A Toon killed his brother", said Dolores, glumly stepping forward, watching Eddie as he stormed out. The patrons gasped, and Delores continued, "Dropped a piano on his head."
Dolores had on her yellow and brown waitress' uniform, which was a bit rumpled. Her hairstyle, a bouffant, touched here and there with strands of gray, puffed along the top of her head, cascading down to form a messy roll by the nape of her neck. Both her dress and her hair were at least a few years out of fashion. Her face was weary, and her eyes looked like they'd seen happier times. She had on bright red lipstick, which only made the lines around her eyes stand out, but the one thing I couldn't help but notice was her deep laugh lines that formed creases by her mouth.
"Nasty business, all that." I said, casually, taking Eddie's vacated seat. "Never mess with a guy who's as hardboiled as the egg you're about to eat."
"He's been through a lot, my Eddie," said Dolores, taking away Eddie's abandoned shot glass to wash it. "He hasn't had a very happy life."
"We all have our stories, Miss…," I trailed off, uncertain of her last name.
"Verne," she supplied, "but just call me Dolores. Every other drunk around here does. Now, can I get you anything, or are you just going to sit there and stare at today's specials?"
"I'll just have a Coca-Cola with a lemon wedge. I don't drink, and I don't intend to start."
I said, "Tell me, my dear Ms. Verne, er …Dolores, rather… what do you know about Eddie Valiant's latest case?"
As she filled out my order, she said, "If you're going to deal with anything involving Eddie, you may as well start drinking now." She slid my drink across the table, Western movie-style. "I don't know much. Say, what's it to you anyway, buster?"
"I think I can help should he ever need it."
She poured Angelo a refill of his Corona, and said to me, dryly, "Well I don't think he's looking for a new partner, but he sure does need some help, all right," earning a few snickers from the other patrons seated at the bar. She glared stonily at them.
I sipped my drink, feeling more and more like an actor in a film noir flick, "I'm looking for work and I'll take what I can get."
"Eddie throws out his bills in the trash. Do you honestly think he'll hire anybody, regardless of how much he needs the help? I'd offer you a job here, but stuffing olives isn't exactly exciting. And the Terminal Station Bar is in danger of closing, and soon, too."
"Come on, doll-face," said Angelo, nursing his beer, "You're the heart and soul of this joint! Only reason I come here every day is to see your shining face."
"Ha!" she laughed.
"I wish you the best of luck keeping this place open if Cloverleaf takes over the Red Car line," I said, wanting to divert the conversation back to Eddie, still hoping I could find my way in through her.
"You mean when it takes it over. I'm guessing you saw the big sign out front. It's not exactly hard to miss." She said, sourly.
"No. I mean if. There's a way out of this mess. I feel it in my gut. Speaking of the fate of the Red Car line, I hear rumors that Cloverleaf also bought Maroon Cartoons and are interested in Acme's properties."
"Well, I didn't hear that anything about that." She noticed I finished my drink, and she said, "That'll be thirty cents."
I handed her the twenty spot that Uncle George gave me, and Angelo whistled. "Whoo! You some kind of high roller, bub?"
Dolores counted out my change and handed it back to me. "Quit it, Angelo. Leave the guy alone."
Angelo backed down and sat back on his bar stool as I put my wallet in the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I awkwardly thanked her for the drink and decided to leave. Maybe Eddie was ready to approach now.
I approached the stairs, and walking down, I thought to myself how that went nowhere fast. Then I realized how stupid I was. I could have seriously altered the timeline just then! Heck, my being here was changing things! Well… I thought uneasily as I crossed the street to head to Valiant's office, maybe it won't be too drastic. Maybe it'll turn out for the best. Maybe my actions here are the reason why certain scenes and characters were deleted from the film: because I was there! Because I, who wasn't supposed to be there was there….. I could play the guessing game all I wanted after this was over. I scolded myself for getting distracted as I mounted the stairs to the main entrance of the building.
I hesitated before pushing the door open. He must be in there. Where else would he be? He won't take those pictures until later, so he's probably getting ready. With my knowledge of what would happen, I walked up to the third floor, and knocked on the door of Valiant and Valiant, room 710.
Just as Eddie was about to open the door, I wondered what I was doing here, really, since Dolores told me I wouldn't get a job helping him with his case. Then, it opened a crack, disrupting my train of thought. Eddie poked his head out of the door.
" I gave at the office. I'm not interested in a new vacuum, and yeah, I already heard the Good News. I don't talk to salesmen." said Eddie, gruffly. His shirt collar was undone, revealing a few scraggly chest hairs, turning gray, slightly. He needed a shave, and the stubble was also sprinkled with a touch of gray. His suspenders were dangling from his pants, and his tie was loosened almost to the point of being undone. He looked extremely disheveled.
"I'm not a salesman, Mr. Valiant. Although, by the looks of it, maybe you do need a new vacuum for your office."
He glowered at me, and was about to slam the door in my face when I said, "I came to ask if you were looking to hire anybody. I'm looking for work and I'll take what I can get."
"Well, I sure as hell ain't hiring. Now beat it, buster. I'm in the middle of a case."
He came this close to closing the door in my face, so I gathered up the guts to stop it and walk in.
"I can help, you know," I said, as I walked in. "With your case."
"It's just a quick little snoop job. I don't need help to take a few pictures, kid. Now get the heck out of here already. And close that damned door behind you when you go."
"All right," I said, as I wrote down the address and phone number for Uncle George's place. "If you ever need help, my offer still stands." He didn't take the paper, so I set it down on his desk.
I lingered at the door, still debating whether or not to say anything more to him. Then, a really good, but also what I felt was a really bad idea popped into my head: I would wait till he headed back to Jessica's dressing room at the Ink and Paint club (assuming that the deleted scene from the movie was true), and follow him, to see if I could help!
That wouldn't happen until much later (Tomorrow, as a matter of fact), so instead, I walked around town a while. I bided my time, working out the details of the plan for several hours while window shopping until George picked me up, as he agreed on, where he dropped me off, and we drove home.
George and I got home at around 7 o'clock, and were met with a nice dinner, cooked by Margret, a kind woman slightly shorter than her husband, who bore a slight resemblance to my Pop-pop. She was beautiful, too. A roundish face, with wide lips with deep red lipstick. If you knew these types of things, you'd know she had a very eastern European face.
She wore a pink and white gingham housedress and had her short, curled hair tied back by a red scarf. All she needed was the strand of pearls around her neck to look like a flawless housewife. Regardless, she was just as welcoming as her husband, who had only told her that I was Rudy's cousin visiting from New York
We exchanged small talk. How did I like Los Angeles. How was New York, and the family. How long I'd be staying. George inquired whether or not I got the job at Valiant and Valiant, and I told him, tactfully, that Mr. Valiant would be thinking it over. I went to bed, exhausted, at around 10 o'clock, and woke up the nest morning, Friday, August 15th, almost the same as I felt last night. Time travel sure takes a lot out of a guy.
The next morning, I woke up to find myself not in my room, not in my own house, and not in my own time. Then I remembered I was in the guest bedroom of George and Margaret's house. I checked my vintage watch on the nightstand, and saw it was 9:30. I heard movement in the kitchen and saw my great aunt and uncle making breakfast. Aunt Margret beat the eggs, and Uncle George prepared the bacon while I set the table. When breakfast was finished, Aunt Margret asked me, "Do you need any new clothes? I saw you have only one shirt and one suit. We could go shopping later today."
"You don't have to-"
"I insist. Please. Anything to help Rudy's cousin." She said, as she smiled sweetly.
I was about to say no thank you, but I stopped, remembering she and Uncle George never had any children. Maybe this was her way of being a mom for 's probably just the English student in me looking for symbolism in every sentence again, though. I'd only known the lady for a few hours, so I didn't think I could jump to conclusions yet.
"Bullock's opened at 9. It's on 7th and Broadway," offered Uncle George from the next room.
"I'm not one for shopping, usually, but all right. Count me in." I smiled.
We drove in her car, and several hours later, I walked out with a full 1940's wardrobe: one new suit, a few dress shirts, underclothes, and a few wide silk ties printed with geometric designs.
She and I drove back to Thousand Oaks, when we were greeted by Uncle George who was just about to head to work. He mentioned, distressed, that Marvin Acme was murdered last night, and that the morning paper was on the dining room table should we wish to read more about it.
On the front page- the full front page- was the story accusing Roger Rabbit of murder, Eddie of "fanning the flames of jealousy" with his pictures, and Acme's murder in grisly detail. Doom and the Toon Patrol were also quoted extensively in the article. Margaret, who knew Acme through George's work, suggested that we go to Acme's funeral, which was to be held later that day, to pay our respects. All the studio executives and top animators would be there if they could, and since George was swamped with work, we should go in his stead. I agreed, to possibly see if I could contact Eddie there.
It was held at Inglewood Cemetery, in southwestern L.A. I saw Eddie there, among the attendees, which, including many men and women- employees and executives, I guessed- was composed of mainly Toons I had never heard of before up until that point. Margaret named as many as she could. Then, who should show up but none other than R.K Maroon, who stepped out of a long black limo when Margaret and I arrived. Bluto, Popeye, Elmer Fudd, Herman the Mouse, Felix the Cat and Goofy unloaded the casket from the hearse, and Yosemite Sam bore the weight of the casket from below.
This odd procession walked towards the grave, and I noticed Felix the cat was fighting back tears.
I noticed Tom and Jerry, Catnip the Cat and Andy Panda directly across from me. Watching the Toons carrying the casket were Porky and Petunia Pig, Horace Horsecollar and Clarabelle Cow, Jerky Turkey, Red Hot Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf (Tex Avery's zoot-suited one. Not Zeke the wolf) and Droopy.
My eyes traveled up a ways and I saw Junior and George, more of Tex Avery's hound dog characters, Practical Pig, Sylvester the cat, Fifer and Fiddler Pig also in that row.
This, to me was even more heartbreaking than Acme's funeral. Who today remembers these once beloved characters?
Goofy exclaimed, "Gawrsh! Pall bearin's shore hard work ain't it? A-hyuck!", which I found to be in really bad taste.
Popeye replied, jokingly, "We're bearing Paul? I thought we were bearing Acme."
"Ah hates funerals," groused Yosemite Sam from under the casket.
Elmer Fudd chastised him, "How can you kid awound at a time wike this?"
Bluto must have thought the same thing as me, because as soon as the casket was set down, he and Popeye immediately started to have a fistfight. The pall-bearers peeled away from the sides of the casket, leaving poor Yosemite Sam with the full weight of it
He pulled out his pistols and hollered "Hold it, ya varmints! I'll plant him myself!"and, with that, he unceremoniously dumped the coffin in the grave. He continued, hollering to Foghorn Leghorn, "Awright, you big-mouthed bantam….preach!"
Valiant turned his head, and I followed his gaze, where I noticed Maroon walking up to Jessica, taking her arm and saying something to her, and the two left to talk privately. Valiant followed them.
I didn't have time to think about what just happened when Foghorn cleared his throat and began his sermon.
He drawled, "Today we commit the body of Brother Acme into the cold, cold, I say, I say, the cold, cold ground. We say goodbye to a man who was more generous than a homely widow with Sunday supper. Why, when Toonkind was splattered forth upon this landscape, we wandered these hills without a home, that is, until Brother Acme painted up his backyard for us to live in, thereby creating the old, I say old neighborhood…Toontown."
He droned on like this, and my eyes wandered upon Casper the friendly ghost accidentally scaring away Donald Duck, daffy Duck, Baby Huey, Hippety Hopper, Dick Tracy and Tubby the Tuba when he asked if someone would be his friend. (The old "IT'S A G-G-G-G-HOSSTTT! AHHHHH!" bit. You know what I'm talking about, right?)
Eddie came back from wherever he had followed Jessica and Maroon to, when Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, and human actors Humphrey Bogart and Clark Gable came driving up the hill to play golf, heaven knows where. I couldn't hear the conversation very well, but this was the best I could make out.
Bugs stepped out of the car and turned to Valiant, chewing a carrot. "Pardon me, Doc," he said, " I hate to interrupt your bird watchin', but is this the right boneyard for the Acme funeral?"
Valiant glanced at the four of them, decked out in golf playing outfits. Bogart was about to say something, but Bugs cut him off, "I know, I know, Doc… tis a hill of beans in this crazy, mixed up world."
He turned to Gable and said "Don't it bother you that he's always sayin' the same thing?"
Foghorn wrapped up his sermon. "We shed no tears for we know that Marvin is going to a better place. That high, high, I say that high-larious place in the sky."
With that, the Harvey Toons jack-in-the-box logo springing out of Acme's casket to the tune of "Pop Goes the Weasel" with a giant funeral wreath attached. The dirt was filled in by several cartoon buzzards, and eventually, it was only Eddie, Margaret and I left at the gravesite.
I whispered to Margaret "Could you maybe wait in the car? I'd like a moment alone to say a prayer for Mr. Acme." She said of course, and waited in her car.
He glanced over at me, and said, "Oh. It's you. I thought it was Captain Cleaver. He's from T.P.D, in Homicide." A long and awkward pause followed. "You know, I hate this place, kid." He said, suddenly turning towards me. "I always hated this place. Come on," he waved over to me, heading towards the right, "I wanna show you something."
He led me down a small hill where we stopped at a large marker labeled "Valiant". It bore three names. One read "Fredrick Valiant, Beloved Father and Husband, March 24th 1865-May 27th 1916". The second was, "Elizabeth Valiant, Beloved Wife and Mother, August 2nd 1869- March 15th 1926".
The final one read "Theodore J. Valiant, Brother, June 22nd 1895-August 13th 1942"
"Your family?" I guessed. I knew who Teddy was, but the first two must be his parents. Freddy and Betty, and their sons, Teddy and Eddie. Cute rhyme.
Eddie looked at me with a lost, distant look on his face. "Yeah… and Teddy was my brother. He was the brains behind our cases, and he did a lot of the detecting, while I did a lot of the legwork. He was a regular clothes-horse. Raked up high bills at Bullock's. He loved to dance, too. He loved Glenn Miller and all those Big Band leaders. We did almost everything together, even when we were kids, growing up in the circus with Ma and Pop. He was the one that brought Dolores and me together back when she was still our secretary. God, I remember back in Catalina like it was yesterday. It was August, back in '42; a few days before the accident that killed him. We goofed around, taking pictures and posing with sombreros and ukuleles… back when I still knew how to goof around. God damn it I miss him." His voice broke slightly. There was a silence for a few seconds. I really wished I could have met Teddy Valiant. He seemed like a truly great man. Without him, I truly think Eddie was…incomplete. It was Eddie and Teddy, Teddy and Eddie, Valiant and Valiant. Now…. it's just Valiant.
"Five years, yesterday." said Eddie, startling me. "Five years of staring down at the bottom of a bottle. You don't know what it's like, kid. You haven't lost someone you love."
"Mr. Valiant, there are many ways to lose someone you love. Right now, I'm stuck thousands of miles away from my family, and I have no idea if they even know where I am. I'm as lost to them as Teddy is to you, practically, and I can assure you, it hurts like crazy. We're both lost now, you and I. We're in the same boat."
I waited for him to say something, but he said nothing. "The only way we can find our way back is to let the past go already. It's dragging you down, and it's dragging me down."
He snorted derisively. "You gotta be what.. 18? What part of your past could you possibly regretting?"
"I did something incredibly stupid that wound me up here. I didn't even tell anyone I did it, and now my family's probably worried to death about me."
"Is that all? I'm practically responsible for Teddy's death. I was the one who wanted to go into a little dive down on Yukster Street in Toontown to chase this guy who'd stolen a zillion simoleons from the Toontown bank. He dropped a piano on us from 15 stories….. I can still see that last look on Teddy's face when I realized it wasn't a Toon piano. He was still laughing, thinking we could just walk it off. I can still hear the sound of that wood splintering as Teddy was crushed under it. It shoulda been me that was under there. I shoulda pushed him out of the way."
His voice was raw and harsh. This took a lot to open up to me like this. After all these years it was still a fresh wound.
"You're right, Mr. Valiant," I began, at first not knowing what to say (I'm usually bad at comforting people), but I found my voice and said, "I don't know what you went through, but I do know that you aren't defined by what you did or didn't do that day. You aren't the one to blame for that. If you keep looking backwards, you can't go forwards. The last thing you say Teddy was doing before the piano fell was laughing, right? Remember him like that. He'd want you to remember him like that. It's important to remember him like that. And it wouldn't hurt to crack a smile every now and then, you know. A wise rabbit once told me that a laugh can be a very powerful thing."
I turned to face him directly, "Why, sometimes in life, it's the only weapon we have." Okay, this was pushing it. Roger already said that to him, so I was waiting for a how-did-you-know-that look, but I got nothing.
Instead, he smiled bitterly and said "Do you expect me to go out there and fight my demons -or whatever you're trying to say I should do-with a laugh?" he asked, bitterly.
"No, but I do expect you to not give up." Remembering what Uncle George and I talked about, I said, "Laughter makes us human. That's what these Toons are really for. We need something to recapture that pure love, and joy when we were young, before the world royally screwed us up. Toons are the physical embodiment of that pure love and innocence and imagination, and if we lose that, if we lose those basic things that make us human. We might as well be nothing. Be thankful you're still alive. Don't sit there wallowing in alcohol and regret Teddy wouldn't want that, I'm sure. You're not a pickle, so don't brine like one. And God knows that you've probably consumed enough alcohol over the past few years to brine and preserve you for a century. But just…just don't give up. That's my point. You need to live again. You need to solve this case of yours. Go home, back to your office and solve this thing. You'll feel better when this is all over. Everything will be different then."
"How do you know?"
"It's just a feeling. You helped almost everyone in Toontown at some point or another, I hear. It's time to help yourself. Don't let the one bad thing that happened to you stop you from living again."
After what seemed like an eternity, he said, "You're right, kid. I don't know why I opened up to a total stranger, but you're right." He exhaled through his nose slowly, "I'll go. I don't know what I'm going to do, exactly, with what I got about Acme's murder, but you're right."
"Trust me. All the answers are waiting at your office. You just have to find out where they're hiding. I know it still hurts to talk about this, but the only person who can make it stop is you. So don't drink and feel sorry about yourself. Don't be a pickle. Be…. Be a cucumber."
He gave me an odd look, but flashed a small smile. "Thanks for that bit of…incredibly weird advice, kid. You're not half bad. If I need you for anything, I'll drop you a line. I still got your card."
"I think you had better just come and pay a call personally."
"I will"
"Oh…Mr. Valiant?" I called.
"Yeah, kid?"
"Good luck."
"Thanks, kid. Thank you for that."
With that, he left, headed to his car, while I headed towards Aunt Margret's car. Our trip back was mostly in silence, but I'm sure she heard much of what I said to Eddie. I guess I did ok, then.
Later that afternoon, I pulled Uncle George aside and asked him to drive me back to LA.
"Is it important? Does it have to do with the case?" he asked, urgently.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm going to be risking my neck spying on what'll happen next. If you don't hear from me- and I'll call when I'm done- I'll probably be Downtown. In Downtown Toontown, that is."
He said, concerned, "I certainly hope you aren't going to do anything illegal, young man," I felt like a kid getting scolded by his father. "But," he continued, "if you really feel you know what you're doing, I suppose I can't stop you. After all, my job, along with Toontown itself, hangs in the balance."He said as we got in his car.
"It's not nearly as dramatic as that."
"What's your plan, anyway?"
"My plan," I said, as we were on our way to LA, "is to spy on what I know will happen next." Briefly, I told him what you'll be reading shortly enough. "Probably, I'll grab a weapon- something heavy- and try to help Valiant. My goal is to be kidnapped by the weasels, and hopefully distract them long enough so Eddie can solve the case without them on his tail."
George said darkly, "I know what those weasels are capable of. Make your one phone call to me, and I'll be over there as soon as I can to get you out of there, if you need me to. Only if you need me to. They'll listen to what I have to say if you use my name. Toons have a lot of respect for their animators." We pulled up at the corner of South hope and 11th and I climbed out of the car. "Be safe, Adam. Please?"
"I will, Uncle George!" I called, as he drove back to Thousand Oaks.
My next move was to hide in the back seat of Eddie's car. I didn't have too much trouble finding it, because his deep turquoise '41 Ford Deluxe Coupe, which he left unlocked, parked in front of the office building. It wasn't too long before I was fully covered by his trench coat on the floor in the back seat, while Eddie climbed into the car, and headed off towards the Ink and Paint Club, to search for Acme's will in Jessica Rabbit's dressing room (this was the deleted scene that was in between where Eddie leaves Roger with Dolores in the bar, and Jessica says "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way.")
He parked, and got out of his car. I heard some trash cans clattering, and decided it was safe to leave. While he had climbed in the window, and fell right on his kiester, I peeked in the window to see him opening the door, and Bongos, that gorilla bouncer knocked him out cold.
I knew he'd be all right, so pretty soon, Judge Doom and Jessica entered the room, and Eddie came to a few minute later.
Jessica, with her enormous bosom, tiny waist, shapely legs and backside, was on her bed. She was putting on a pair of stockings under her revealing, red sequined dress. She was a red-head, with a Veronica Lake peek-a-boo hairstyle, green eyes, and purple eye-shadow. She also wore long purple elbow-length gloves.
"Pick him up," Doom said to the gorilla, who lifted him into a chair.
"Rummaging in a lady's dressing room!" exclaimed the Judge nastily, "Tisk, tisk, tisk! What were you looking for, Mr. Valiant?" he said, leering at him from over the rims of his antique spectacles.
Jessica said, from her seat on the bed, "Last week, some heavy breather wanted one of my nylons as a souvenir."
"'Look, doll," Eddie said to her, "If I'd have wanted underwear, I'd have broken into Fredrick's of Hollywood! You know damn well I was looking for Marvin Acme's will!"
Doom said, "Marvin Acme had no will. I should know. The estate's in my jurisdiction.", and he sat down in a chair, facing him.
Eddie said, "'There's a will, all right! She (indicating Jessica) and R.K Maroon killed him for it!'"
Jessica said, adjusting her other stocking, "That's absurd!"
Eddie countered with "Someone else was in here looking for the will, too! Probably Maroon's flunkies! And I would've caught them too, if cheater here (meaning Bongos) hadn't interrupted me!"
Doom looked at Eddie, and the gorilla reached out to take a swing at him, and Doom said, "Take it easy, Bongos! We'll handle Mr. Valiant our own way." And he got this smirk on his face and said: "Downtown.'"
Eddie obviously thought he meant Downtown, as in the L.A P.D, so he said "Downtown! Fine! Let's get a hold of Santino!" (referring to his friend, Lt. Santino)
But Doom said "Oh. I'm not talking about that Downtown. I'm talking about Downtown Toontown."
The smile melted off of Eddie's face. Smartass and the rest of the members of the Toon Patrol walked in and said "You were warned to say outa this case, Valiant! But you didn't!" He walked over to Doom and smiled menacingly.
Eddie got really scared then, and began to beg, "No, not Toontown, No, please, no!", and the next thing I know the Toon Patrol drags Eddie kicking and screaming out the door.
This was my moment, I decided. I reached around for something I could use as a weapon before Eddie was dragged away to where I couldn't help him, and my fingers found…. an old teapot. How was this going to help? I dug through the piles of junk again and found a bent, but heavy lead pipe! But it was stuck, and when I finally freed it, everything else in the pile clattered free. I cringed, hoping they wouldn't hear it. I wanted to get in there as stealthily as possible, but, joy of joys, the Judge stuck his head out the window, shouted something I couldn't hear as I kept on trying to lift up the pipe, and I felt hands grab me. Several pairs of hands with spindly fingers and sharp claws.
"Looks like we got us a Peeping Tom, boss!" rasped a husky Spanish accent in my ear. My nose was assaulted with the reek of Brylcreem hair pomade, cheap whiskey, nasty cologne, and tobacco. Soon, as Greasy and Wheezy took my left arm, and the two new weasels, Slimy and Flasher latched onto my right. Smartass stood in front of me, puffing on a Cuban cigar. Inhaling a pungent plume of smoke he blew in my face, he sneered, "Put him in the back of the van, boys! Let's take 'em both Downtown!"
I struggled to free myself from their grasps, and I shouted, "Let me go! I want to see a lawyer! Let me go, dammit!"
"No way in hell we're letting you go, kid!" said Smartass venomously, "You were caught spying- and don't tell me you wasn't, cause I saw your mug in the window- and do you wanna know what we do with spies down in Toontown?"
Psycho giggled: "Heheheheheheheee! What do you want to do with him, boss? The Chinese finger trap? Wet willies?"
"No, Psycho: those are only for Toons. The kid gets something real special, don't he boys?"
A chorus of "yups", "yeahs" and "uh-huhs" from the other Weasels sounded off just then as each one looked at me with various degrees of sinister grins.
Slowly moving around me, Smartass said, "First, kid, we'll take you down to the jail cells, where you'll spend a little while thinking about what you did. Then," he running the tip of his switchblade down my cheep and digging it in slightly, "We work our magic on you!"
"The Pig-head treatment, boss?" asked Greasy, hopefully.
"No, men," said Judge Doom from behind us, "Save the Pig-head treatment for Valiant. Leave the boy to me."
"You gonna give the kid the Third Degree, boss?" asked Smartass.
"Yes, Sergeant. Giving him the Third Degree will make him tell us everything we know."
He nodded to the Weasels. "Toss him in with Valiant. I daresay he won't complain."
The back of their black '37 Dodge Humpback opened, where Eddie was restrained in the holding cell. I was tossed in the back of the van like a sack of flour. Before the door was slammed shut, I demanded, "Well, aren't you at least going to read me my rights?"
"As far as we're 'discerned', kid, you have no rights!" spat Smartass, as he slammed the doors shut, engulfing me in total darkness.
"Let me go!" I said, through gritted teeth.
"Is that you, kid?" called an incredulous Valiant, muffled from the back of the car.
"I don't know. Tell me, is it?' I replied, sarcastically as the Weasels dragged me closer to the car.
"Kind of sounds like you."
"That's a load off my mind. I'm never sure these days." I snapped.
"What are you doing here?" called Valiant. "Get out of here! It's dangerous!"
"The kid don't especially got a choice!" sneered Smartass as the back of their black '37 Dodge Humpback opened, where Eddie was restrained in the holding cell. I was tossed in the back of the van like a sack of flour. Before the door was slammed shut, I demanded, "Well, aren't you at least going to read me my rights?"
"As far as we're 'discerned', kid, you have no rights!" spat Smartass, as he slammed the doors shut.
No Toons were harmed in the writing of this story.
Here goes nothing:
I remember that it was Thursday, August 14th, 1947. But before you interrupt me asking how that's possible, hear me out.
The ranch house in Thousand Oaks, California was light and airy. All clean lines and open spaces, with a design reminiscent of the late Art Deco period. It was one story, with a formal and an informal living room. I sat in the formal living room on a shiny cream leather sofa, nervously facing my great uncle.
Of course, he didn't know he was my great uncle- yet. That was a big part of the reason I sought him out. He was a formidable looking man about 6 feet tall, with a receding hairline, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye that softened his demeanor. Wearing a lightweight grey suit with broad, peaked lapels that went quite well with a pastel blue shirt and silvery grey Art Deco tie, he was the picture of a successful artist and animator.
Of course, this was a first impression. I never knew him in my own time; he died a decade before I was born. My mom knew him better, and would probably be appalled at my first impression of her uncle, but I was incredible nervous, and a little bit intimidated.
I was nervous because he, George Kreisl, was probably the only person who'd take me seriously enough to help me get home.
"You're my only hope to get home, Mr. Kreisl. Without your help, I might as well kiss my home goodbye. Can you help me," I begged, "Please?"
He gulped, slightly, and said, "Young man, if you really claim that I'm your only hope to get home, I'll try my hardest. What exactly is the problem?"
"This is a bit of a whopper. I think you might just lock me up in the local nuthouse," I said, with a small, apologetic smile.
"I work with cartoons for a living. I go home and have hallucinations half the time. I don't think you could say anything that can shock me."
"I don't really know where to start," I said, shifting in my seat uncomfortably, "Nothing is quite right to explain what happened to me – and don't get me wrong, this has to do with you, too. Indirectly, of course…."
"Go on," he said. I continued, "This may sound like something out of 'Ripley's Believe it or Not', but I….. somehow I was thrust backward in time thanks to a pair of spats." I noticed his eyes narrowing so I quickly continued," T-the…er… the spats were in an old suitcase I found. There were things from your house. H-here, " I said, sweeping my arm around the elegantly furnished formal living room, "This.. house…."
He said nothing, so I said, "This next bit will be harder to swallow: I'm your great nephew. Your wife's little brother is my maternal grandfather. I know Pop-pop…I mean..Rudy.. is only 8 years old now, but look carefully, " I said, slowly taking off my glasses, "Can you see any family resemblance?"
He said, slowly, considering it, "I see a resemblance. But do you have any proof? How do I know you're not a lunatic? Not that I truly think you're a lunatic! I'd just like some proof that you are who you say you are." He furrowed his brow.
Suddenly, I remembered my learner's permit, and I fished out my wallet. Handing it to him, I said, "Here, look. It says my name, address, date of birth. All that stuff. If this isn't proof, than I don't know what is."
He was silent for a moment as he studied it. I was afraid he'd accuse me of faking it, but he said nothing. Handing it back to me, he said, "Well, you are who you say you are. I suppose you should start calling me Uncle George, then. Now, about those spats…. Do you have them with you? I think I might know the ones you mean."
Breathing a sigh of relief, I took them out of my pocket. They were a pair of gleaming white cartoon spats. Their real-life counterparts were used as a swanky accessory, meant to be worn over the shoes, from the 1800s to the late 1930s. Handing them to him, I was delighted to see a flash of recognition on his face.
He said, "I had a bad feeling you were talking about these spats. There was a good reason these were hidden among my old things."
My smile disappeared, "Don't look so downhearted," he said, "I can probably figure out what happened: you put the spats on, presumably as a finishing touch to your costume- am I right? I'm guessing that you people in 2015 don't dress like we do today," he said, looking over my grey double breasted suit and wool felt fedora. His gaze lingered, somewhat disapprovingly on my red candy-striped shirt and equally loud tie; red on one half, a line of dots with a white background on the other.
"That's pretty much it. I love vintage clothing. The styles of my day are comfortable and casual, but I love the look and feel of the 40s style," I said.
"And, "he continued, smiling, "You must have clicked your heels, like in 'The Wizard of Oz' and you wound up here. You must have, even if you didn't realize it. That's now the spats work."
"Yeah," I sheepishly admitted, "But it was an accident. If I knew I was going to be stuck here, I never would have clicked them!"
Uncle George chuckled, saying "I'm sure you didn't. But I'm guessing you tried to go back the same way you got here?"
"Yes," I said, "And it didn't work. And I'm guessing that you know why? Because if you do, that's what I came here to ask you. I mean, imagine my shock when, on top of realizing I was trapped in the past, I see a bunch of Loony Tunes characters walking down Sunset Boulevard! And why did I end up there? Why this date? Why-"
He cut me off, but gently, "Patience, my boy, patience. First, to understand the way these spats work, you'll have to understand about the way Toons are drawn to life."
I sat forward, eager to hear what he had to say.
"It's not as exciting as it sounds," he began, " New Toons are drawn almost every day. I forgot how they used to do it, but back about 10…12 years ago, they began using multiplane cameras to animate Toons. You insert the cel- animation cels. They're ink and paint sketches of scenes or characters drawn on transparent celluloid," he said, when he saw that I had no idea what he meant, "Anyway, you insert the cel drawing of the Toon, and the camera projects and animates it. They work by rotating layers of sketches, frame-by-frame to form a complete picture. Then, voice actors are used to give the Toon a voice, which sometimes has to be changed, as the sound starts to fade like an old record: hence the need for voice actors. Foley artists are also used to give the Toon unique sounds when he, she or it moves. "
He paused to take a breath, and continued, "They used some sort of a projector back before Disney's camera, I think, which is why the majority of cartoons back then were silent. But this was all before my time. My first characters were a group of about seven or so weasels for 'The Adventures of Ichabod Crane and Mr. Toad". Now they've been made the top law enforcement agency in Toontown. They call themselves the Toon Patrol, or something like that. They're the henchmen…or, henchweasels, rather, for the Chief Justice of Toontown, Judge Doom." George continued, "Horrible man, if you ask me. Word was that he bought the election. It begs the question as to why such a cold and merciless man would want to be the presiding judge of a town of goofy characters. But they're the only type of police force there now. I'm not sure how the city could have made them into an official organization, considering they're gangsters with badges."
"Wait…back up for a second…you drew the Toon Patrol to life?" I stared at him, mouth nearly agape.
I could hardly believe my ears that George Kreisl would have anything to do with drawing those nasty weasels to life. In the film (Who Framed Roger Rabbit, that is) , there were five weasels: Smartass, Greasy, Wheezy, Stupid and Psycho.
Smartass wore a pink double breasted suit and fedora, and spoke in a classic New York accent, albeit a whiney one. Awful grammar, too. Constantly used malapropisms, such as "deformants" instead of "informants".
Greasy was the most lustful out of the weasels in the film. He spoke with a husky Spanish accent and wore an acid green zoot suit, with black and white spectator shoes. He usually carried around a switchblade.
Wheezy was dressed more like a card shark; rumpled white shirt, grey tie and vest, with a porkpie fedora. He was a chain smoker, often being seen with three in his mouth at once, and more tucked in various hiding spots on his person. He was an unusual blue-grey color, and his fur was nicotine stained.
Psycho had wild, spiky fur, and wore a loosened straightjacket. He has yellow and orange swirly eyes and carried a straight razor. He had a high, lilting voice, and giggled a lot.
Stupid was the dumb one. He had one long tooth that jutted out of his mouth, and wore a blue stripes shirt that rode up on his belly. On his head was a red and yellow beanie. He carried a baseball bat imbedded with a nail that he mainly used to whack himself over the head. On his feet were red untied sneakers.
The other two weasels that Uncle George mentioned could only be the two that were cut out of the film: Slimy and Flasher. Slimy looked more like a 1950s greaser, with an oily pompadour and a leather jacket open over his deep brown fur. Slime dripped from his nose, paws and feet, and possibly his mouth. Flasher wore a trench coat and a backwards baseball cap. You can guess why he was called Flasher. (In truth, he wasn't displaying anything: he did it for the shock value. But he had on a gaudy pair of boxers patterned with Valentine hearts). With the two ones cut out, the seven were whittled down to five in the film, but in the real world, their numbers were increased. Judge Doom and the Seven Weasels, I guess. That wouldn't make a very good Disney film, now would it?
"Yes, I drew the Toon Patrol to life." he said, "As a matter of fact; those spats belonged to the leader of the group. I don't recall his name."
"Smartass," I supplied, nodding my head slightly.
"That's his name!" he shouted, triumphantly, but said, confused, "How do you know that? I never labeled the spats. Are the weasels well known in your time?"
"Well, no," I began, "not for their work as law enforcement in Toontown. They were known for their role in a film called "Who Framed Roger Rabbit"."
"Roger Rabbit?" asked Uncle George, "You don't mean RK Maroon's star?"
"Yeah," I said, getting excited about the fact that my favorite movie was real, "That's exactly who I mean. They're the secondary villains in the film, and thanks to what you just told me, I now know that it actually happened. Or will happen, later today, based on today's date, and the date given in the film."
"Well," said Uncle George, "Whatever role they'll play in whoever framed Roger Rabbit, you'll have to know that I wasn't the one who named those weasels. Walt asked me to draw a group of tough-guy weasels for some last- minute touches on "Ichabod Crane and Mister Toad'. This was my first little tiff with Disney, because he had me draw them entirely new wardrobes! He and I had very different definitions of what a tough-guy Toon should look like. I drew them as gangsters, but Mr. Disney didn't want them to look like gangsters, so he asked me to draw some simple flat caps and raggedy shirts for them, like dockworkers, or something. They changed outfits as soon as we began filming."
"That's odd… I know for a fact that "Ichabod Crane and Mr. Toad" was released in 1949. That's 8 years from when you say you worked on it," I pointed out.
"Yes…. Disney plans to release it in a few years. We would have released it after the filming was done, but it was delayed due to both the outbreak of the War, and a few other reasons."
"What other reasons?" I asked, curious to know.
"There was an….unfortunate accident on the stage next door to ours. They were wrapping up filming "Bambi", when the Toon playing the hunter- a rather ugly one named Baron VonRotten- was accidentally shocked by one of the multiplane cameras and, when he finally regained consciousness; he actually believed he was a villain! He went around the other sound stages wreaking all kinds of havoc, and disappeared into Toowntown shortly after that I don't know what's become of him."
"Oh…" I said. I knew instantly the Toon he meant, but I wasn't going to say anything. Not then, at least.
He continued, "I knew that the Weasels, also, would be trouble pretty soon after we were finished filming. But they can't help it. They were drawn that way, as villains." He sighed, and said, "At any rate, what you told me about where you ended up explains why Smartass left them with me. He just discarded them after filming was over. I see he found another pair to wear," he said, with a hint of distaste.
"So how do they work?"
"They're designed to return themselves to their original owner, where they live. You ended up right near the entrance of Toontown, though on this exact date, I don't know why. I don't think they'll go into Toontown. The physics in our world and in Toontown are enormously different, to say the least. Since they were drawn in the real world, but using the limited Toon physics that have a foothold here, they only worked partway, which was probably why the boss weasel discarded them."
"They were created here, so they only could take him as far as the entrance to Toontown. If I were to draw a new pair, and dedicate the drawing to you, the spats should, in theory, work for you and bring you back to almost exactly wherever it is you were…ah...zapped from." He chuckled a bit, But, I think, in all seriousness, I should be able to send you home within a week. If you like," he added, "I could make them work as a round trip, so you can come back here as often as you like."
I could hardly believe my ears. He found a way to send me home, almost straight away! And I could come back to my favorite decade if I wanted to?
"Thank you so much, Uncle George!" I felt like hugging him, but I figured that would be awkward, so I just grinned.
"It's really no problem," Uncle George said, "But, I'm not exactly sure when I can get the chance to do it. They have several new skits that need a new load of characters drawn to life. It may take a while. You can stay here if you like, until we can get you back to where you belong."
"Thank you! Oh, but…. First, I think I have a job to do," I said, thinking that I could very well get in on the action that the film was based on. No fan could possibly get to do what I was about to do!
But Uncle George misunderstood me."Well, there's an opening at the studio as a storage clerk, I think."
"Actually, Uncle George, I have another job in mind. Do you know the address for Valiant and Valiant, in LA?"
"The detective agency? Hold on. I think I have a business card somewhere," he said as he got up and retrieved his business card holder.
When he returned, he handed me a coffee-stained white card which read "Valiant and Valiant, Private Investigators." Below it, the address: "1130, South Hope Street, TEL: MAdion-3529".
"You can keep it," he said, "I have several others."
I said, barely able to contain my excitement as I put on my hat, "I think I'll head there right away!"
"Now wait a minute, just..wait! You don't mean you actually intend to interfere with this business- whatever it is- with Roger Rabbit and the Toon Patrol?"
I slowly began to sit down, "Yeah… why? Is there a problem?" But instantly, I saw there was a problem. A very big one.
"Well, for starters, Los Angeles nearly 40 miles away; an hour away from my house. And let's not even get started on the fact that Toontown has a dangerous underground. You could get hurt if you stick your nose in where it doesn't belong."
My smile began to fade. "I hitchhiked up here, and I could do the same on the way to LA… but you're right… I guess I was just excited, because the film that used whatever is going to happen in the next few days as its basis is my all-time favorite movie." Sheepishly, I grinned and took my hat off. George sat back in his chair, and said,
"Well, tell me what "all of this" is about. If this is as serious as you make it sound, Adam, I'm curious to hear about it."
So I told him, without going into too much detail, as I'm prone to doing, the entire plot of "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" as simply as I could: "The film centers around alcoholic P.I, Eddie Valiant, who is hired by animator RK Maroon to take compromising pictures of RK's star Roger Rabbit's wife Jessica "playing patty cake"- literally, as it turns out- with Toontown's owner Marvin Acme. But things get screwy when Acme's will turns up missing and Judge Doom and the Toon Patrol start accusing Roger of murdering Acme. Eddie has to also try to save both the Red Car line of trolleys and Toontown from destruction by a company called Cloverleaf, find Acme's will and clear Roger's name. In the end, it's revealed that Doom owns Cloverleaf, and is behind it all, and wants to destroy Toontown and the Red Car line to build a massive highway. He's also a psychotic Toon in disguise, by the way. Based on what you've told me, it's all true, and is going to happen in the next three days!"
He looked like he was struck by lightning. "If this is all true, you must get involved! Toontown must be saved at all costs! It's already 10 am, so if you want to catch that Valiant man, you'll have to do it now. Come," he said, getting out of his chair. "I'll drive you there on my way to work."
We both climbed into his car, a gorgeous '45 Pontiac Streamliner in white and blue, and drove the way I came (I can't remember much more than that. We were deeply involved in the following conversation, so I don't know which way we went).
"I wish I knew the best way to help you with this," George said, "But I'm not exactly an expert on Toontown, nor on Toon physics. No one is, with the sole exception of Toontown's owner, Marvin Acme. This isn't an exact science, you understand. Bringing a Toon into existence, and the mechanics the 'death' of a Toon are still a mystery. Some sort of psychobabble with quantum physics, or something."
After a long pause, I asked, "What does a Toon physically feel like? Do they have a weight? A texture? Or do they feel like the ink and paint they're made of?"
"It's difficult to explain. They have a weight to them, though, for some of the smaller Toons, it's very slight. They don't look two-dimensional, though. It's..it's really something you'll have to experience for yourself. It's amazing, actually. But they feel, too. They know what pain and heat and cold feel like because that's how they're drawn. They aren't really living things, but they're made to be like they are. Whatever the role demands of them, they do, which is how they can feel. We don't….project our own emotions onto them, but they already come with them. They're alive, and they exist, but not in the sense of you or I. They love, they hate, they feel emotions, but not like humans, because they're not….born. They're drawn, and whatever notes the animator makes on the concept sheets get incorporated into the design. That's why some Toons are good and some Toons are bad. It's really how they're drawn. It brings into question one's views about life as a whole, doesn't it?"
"That must be why they're a….basically a repressed minority now," I said, " That also might be why I had to go 68 years in the past to hear about them. Maybe the people of my own time didn't want people to know about them, because of the physically impossible things they can do that humans can't do: because people could be scared of some kind of stupid potential uprising. Can you imagine it?"
"I never really thought about it that way. But Toons are made to make people laugh. They're comedians. Actors. How can people think they'd start an uprising, or some other stupid thing?"
"Ask the people who don't allow Toons in most of the establishments in LA. It's segregation, really."
"I have to agree with you on that, my boy. But you know, they're near and dear to every American out there. They know how to make people laugh." By that point, we were almost in LA, and I didn't even realize it."Toons," he continued, "don't have much…footing in this world. They're, as you said, a minority. Laughter is what they know best. It's their tool, their weapon to be of some influence in this crazy world of ours. Without laughter, they're nothing, really. We're nothing, too. Laughs can make us human, if you really think about it."
"Maybe that's also why Toons die of too much laughter: because they're just not human."
We were quiet for quite a number of minutes. Nearly 20, before he spoke again.
"Quite true. It's an almost godlike complex, making these Toons come to life. They're like children, pure, and innocent, and made to convey something pure and innocent. If people took advantage of something like that, where would the world be? It would be wrong. It would also be like taking advantage of ourselves, which we successfully manage to do anyway, in this second year of the atomic age. Laughter does make us human. It's what makes us…well, us. If we had no laughter, no joy, or happiness or love, would we still be human? Maybe that's the reason for these cartoons. To make us laugh, and make us feel human. To recapture that essence of pure love and joy when we were children with cartoons. The love and security and the laughter. If that very essence of humanity were taken away, where would we be? People need to laugh, and be happy. That's why Toontown is as important to us as we are to it."
Maybe that's also why Doom wants to destroy Toontown, I thought. In addition to his plot to destroy the Red Car line- LA's public transportation system of trolley cars- and make way for a freeway where Toontown currently stands.
"It's a grim thing to be thinking about," he continued, "It's also something that can really make you question the boundaries of life and all that philosophical stuff. Not something I really want to think about before I head to work. Speaking of, we're almost at Valiant and Valiant's," he said, pulling to a stop at the intersection of South Hope Street and 11th avenue.
"Do you need any money? Do you feel all right by yourself here?" he asked, concerned.
I said that I'd be fine, and as far as money was concerned, he didn't have to, but I would take whatever he could spare. He handed me twenty dollars. You, dear reader, must be thinking what a cheapskate my great uncle is for giving me twenty bucks, but you have to remember that a twenty spot went a very long way in a year where public transportation was a nickel and most meals were 50 cents.
We parted ways, and he drove over to Disney Studios in Burbank. The street was crowded, bustling with people and gorgeous old cars, so it was a bit of a challenge to make it to what I recognized as Eddie's building. It really did look the way the movie portrayed it, South Hope Street. Everything bathed in midmorning sunlight, the people going about their business, and the Red Cars clanging along the tracks.
I, admittedly, felt scared, being all alone in an unfamiliar city, 68 years in the past at that… But I felt a sense of duty to try to help as much as I could, so I soldiered on towards the building where Eddie Valiant's office was. Now, I would have called ahead, but I don't think Eddie would have been in his office at that time. He was probably headed to the Terminal Bar on 6th avenue and South Hope Street, where his girlfriend, Dolores worked.
With incredible luck, I saw who I presumed was Eddie Valiant (He was very nearly the spitting image of Bob Hoskins! The movie producers sure got an A-1 lookalike to play him in the film!) heading into the Terminal Station Bar after throwing his mail in a nearby trashcan, and crossing the street.
I thought I could pass for someone older than I actually was, especially with how I was dressed, so I don't think I'd get kicked out if I went into a bar. Heck, even though I was only 17, I doubt the patrons would have cared. Dolores might, maybe, but she'd be too distracted demanding what happened to the second half of the hundred dollars Eddie owes her, or griping about someone wanting continuous re-fills of their beer.
With mounting confidence, I crossed the street and climbed the stairs, under the flickering neon sign for the bar. Just as I was up the stairs, the ceiling lights sparked and flickered and a trolley roared by. God, how could these guys stand it here with all this noise, I thought to myself.
Soon, Eddie stormed past me just as I was about to enter. Well, hello to you too. Guess I'll talk to him later. I entered the bar, and arrived just in time to see what made Eddie mad: Angelo, an obnoxious mechanic teased Eddie about working for Toons. "What's his problem?" asked Angelo, chewing the rest of the hardboiled egg that Eddie shoved in his mouth.
"A Toon killed his brother", said Dolores, glumly stepping forward, watching Eddie as he stormed out. The patrons gasped, and Delores continued, "Dropped a piano on his head."
Dolores had on her yellow and brown waitress' uniform, which was a bit rumpled. Her hairstyle, a bouffant, touched here and there with strands of gray, puffed along the top of her head, cascading down to form a messy roll by the nape of her neck. Both her dress and her hair were at least a few years out of fashion. Her face was weary, and her eyes looked like they'd seen happier times. She had on bright red lipstick, which only made the lines around her eyes stand out, but the one thing I couldn't help but notice was her deep laugh lines that formed creases by her mouth.
"Nasty business, all that." I said, casually, taking Eddie's vacated seat. "Never mess with a guy who's as hardboiled as the egg you're about to eat."
"He's been through a lot, my Eddie," said Dolores, taking away Eddie's abandoned shot glass to wash it. "He hasn't had a very happy life."
"We all have our stories, Miss…," I trailed off, uncertain of her last name.
"Verne," she supplied, "but just call me Dolores. Every other drunk around here does. Now, can I get you anything, or are you just going to sit there and stare at today's specials?"
"I'll just have a Coca-Cola with a lemon wedge. I don't drink, and I don't intend to start."
I said, "Tell me, my dear Ms. Verne, er …Dolores, rather… what do you know about Eddie Valiant's latest case?"
As she filled out my order, she said, "If you're going to deal with anything involving Eddie, you may as well start drinking now." She slid my drink across the table, Western movie-style. "I don't know much. Say, what's it to you anyway, buster?"
"I think I can help should he ever need it."
She poured Angelo a refill of his Corona, and said to me, dryly, "Well I don't think he's looking for a new partner, but he sure does need some help, all right," earning a few snickers from the other patrons seated at the bar. She glared stonily at them.
I sipped my drink, feeling more and more like an actor in a film noir flick, "I'm looking for work and I'll take what I can get."
"Eddie throws out his bills in the trash. Do you honestly think he'll hire anybody, regardless of how much he needs the help? I'd offer you a job here, but stuffing olives isn't exactly exciting. And the Terminal Station Bar is in danger of closing, and soon, too."
"Come on, doll-face," said Angelo, nursing his beer, "You're the heart and soul of this joint! Only reason I come here every day is to see your shining face."
"Ha!" she laughed.
"I wish you the best of luck keeping this place open if Cloverleaf takes over the Red Car line," I said, wanting to divert the conversation back to Eddie, still hoping I could find my way in through her.
"You mean when it takes it over. I'm guessing you saw the big sign out front. It's not exactly hard to miss." She said, sourly.
"No. I mean if. There's a way out of this mess. I feel it in my gut. Speaking of the fate of the Red Car line, I hear rumors that Cloverleaf also bought Maroon Cartoons and are interested in Acme's properties."
"Well, I didn't hear that anything about that." She noticed I finished my drink, and she said, "That'll be thirty cents."
I handed her the twenty spot that Uncle George gave me, and Angelo whistled. "Whoo! You some kind of high roller, bub?"
Dolores counted out my change and handed it back to me. "Quit it, Angelo. Leave the guy alone."
Angelo backed down and sat back on his bar stool as I put my wallet in the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I awkwardly thanked her for the drink and decided to leave. Maybe Eddie was ready to approach now.
I approached the stairs, and walking down, I thought to myself how that went nowhere fast. Then I realized how stupid I was. I could have seriously altered the timeline just then! Heck, my being here was changing things! Well… I thought uneasily as I crossed the street to head to Valiant's office, maybe it won't be too drastic. Maybe it'll turn out for the best. Maybe my actions here are the reason why certain scenes and characters were deleted from the film: because I was there! Because I, who wasn't supposed to be there was there….. I could play the guessing game all I wanted after this was over. I scolded myself for getting distracted as I mounted the stairs to the main entrance of the building.
I hesitated before pushing the door open. He must be in there. Where else would he be? He won't take those pictures until later, so he's probably getting ready. With my knowledge of what would happen, I walked up to the third floor, and knocked on the door of Valiant and Valiant, room 710.
Just as Eddie was about to open the door, I wondered what I was doing here, really, since Dolores told me I wouldn't get a job helping him with his case. Then, it opened a crack, disrupting my train of thought. Eddie poked his head out of the door.
" I gave at the office. I'm not interested in a new vacuum, and yeah, I already heard the Good News. I don't talk to salesmen." said Eddie, gruffly. His shirt collar was undone, revealing a few scraggly chest hairs, turning gray, slightly. He needed a shave, and the stubble was also sprinkled with a touch of gray. His suspenders were dangling from his pants, and his tie was loosened almost to the point of being undone. He looked extremely disheveled.
"I'm not a salesman, Mr. Valiant. Although, by the looks of it, maybe you do need a new vacuum for your office."
He glowered at me, and was about to slam the door in my face when I said, "I came to ask if you were looking to hire anybody. I'm looking for work and I'll take what I can get."
"Well, I sure as hell ain't hiring. Now beat it, buster. I'm in the middle of a case."
He came this close to closing the door in my face, so I gathered up the guts to stop it and walk in.
"I can help, you know," I said, as I walked in. "With your case."
"It's just a quick little snoop job. I don't need help to take a few pictures, kid. Now get the heck out of here already. And close that damned door behind you when you go."
"All right," I said, as I wrote down the address and phone number for Uncle George's place. "If you ever need help, my offer still stands." He didn't take the paper, so I set it down on his desk.
I lingered at the door, still debating whether or not to say anything more to him. Then, a really good, but also what I felt was a really bad idea popped into my head: I would wait till he headed back to Jessica's dressing room at the Ink and Paint club (assuming that the deleted scene from the movie was true), and follow him, to see if I could help!
That wouldn't happen until much later (Tomorrow, as a matter of fact), so instead, I walked around town a while. I bided my time, working out the details of the plan for several hours while window shopping until George picked me up, as he agreed on, where he dropped me off, and we drove home.
George and I got home at around 7 o'clock, and were met with a nice dinner, cooked by Margret, a kind woman slightly shorter than her husband, who bore a slight resemblance to my Pop-pop. She was beautiful, too. A roundish face, with wide lips with deep red lipstick. If you knew these types of things, you'd know she had a very eastern European face.
She wore a pink and white gingham housedress and had her short, curled hair tied back by a red scarf. All she needed was the strand of pearls around her neck to look like a flawless housewife. Regardless, she was just as welcoming as her husband, who had only told her that I was Rudy's cousin visiting from New York
We exchanged small talk. How did I like Los Angeles. How was New York, and the family. How long I'd be staying. George inquired whether or not I got the job at Valiant and Valiant, and I told him, tactfully, that Mr. Valiant would be thinking it over. I went to bed, exhausted, at around 10 o'clock, and woke up the nest morning, Friday, August 15th, almost the same as I felt last night. Time travel sure takes a lot out of a guy.
The next morning, I woke up to find myself not in my room, not in my own house, and not in my own time. Then I remembered I was in the guest bedroom of George and Margaret's house. I checked my vintage watch on the nightstand, and saw it was 9:30. I heard movement in the kitchen and saw my great aunt and uncle making breakfast. Aunt Margret beat the eggs, and Uncle George prepared the bacon while I set the table. When breakfast was finished, Aunt Margret asked me, "Do you need any new clothes? I saw you have only one shirt and one suit. We could go shopping later today."
"You don't have to-"
"I insist. Please. Anything to help Rudy's cousin." She said, as she smiled sweetly.
I was about to say no thank you, but I stopped, remembering she and Uncle George never had any children. Maybe this was her way of being a mom for 's probably just the English student in me looking for symbolism in every sentence again, though. I'd only known the lady for a few hours, so I didn't think I could jump to conclusions yet.
"Bullock's opened at 9. It's on 7th and Broadway," offered Uncle George from the next room.
"I'm not one for shopping, usually, but all right. Count me in." I smiled.
We drove in her car, and several hours later, I walked out with a full 1940's wardrobe: one new suit, a few dress shirts, underclothes, and a few wide silk ties printed with geometric designs.
She and I drove back to Thousand Oaks, when we were greeted by Uncle George who was just about to head to work. He mentioned, distressed, that Marvin Acme was murdered last night, and that the morning paper was on the dining room table should we wish to read more about it.
On the front page- the full front page- was the story accusing Roger Rabbit of murder, Eddie of "fanning the flames of jealousy" with his pictures, and Acme's murder in grisly detail. Doom and the Toon Patrol were also quoted extensively in the article. Margaret, who knew Acme through George's work, suggested that we go to Acme's funeral, which was to be held later that day, to pay our respects. All the studio executives and top animators would be there if they could, and since George was swamped with work, we should go in his stead. I agreed, to possibly see if I could contact Eddie there.
It was held at Inglewood Cemetery, in southwestern L.A. I saw Eddie there, among the attendees, which, including many men and women- employees and executives, I guessed- was composed of mainly Toons I had never heard of before up until that point. Margaret named as many as she could. Then, who should show up but none other than R.K Maroon, who stepped out of a long black limo when Margaret and I arrived. Bluto, Popeye, Elmer Fudd, Herman the Mouse, Felix the Cat and Goofy unloaded the casket from the hearse, and Yosemite Sam bore the weight of the casket from below.
This odd procession walked towards the grave, and I noticed Felix the cat was fighting back tears.
I noticed Tom and Jerry, Catnip the Cat and Andy Panda directly across from me. Watching the Toons carrying the casket were Porky and Petunia Pig, Horace Horsecollar and Clarabelle Cow, Jerky Turkey, Red Hot Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf (Tex Avery's zoot-suited one. Not Zeke the wolf) and Droopy.
My eyes traveled up a ways and I saw Junior and George, more of Tex Avery's hound dog characters, Practical Pig, Sylvester the cat, Fifer and Fiddler Pig also in that row.
This, to me was even more heartbreaking than Acme's funeral. Who today remembers these once beloved characters?
Goofy exclaimed, "Gawrsh! Pall bearin's shore hard work ain't it? A-hyuck!", which I found to be in really bad taste.
Popeye replied, jokingly, "We're bearing Paul? I thought we were bearing Acme."
"Ah hates funerals," groused Yosemite Sam from under the casket.
Elmer Fudd chastised him, "How can you kid awound at a time wike this?"
Bluto must have thought the same thing as me, because as soon as the casket was set down, he and Popeye immediately started to have a fistfight. The pall-bearers peeled away from the sides of the casket, leaving poor Yosemite Sam with the full weight of it
He pulled out his pistols and hollered "Hold it, ya varmints! I'll plant him myself!"and, with that, he unceremoniously dumped the coffin in the grave. He continued, hollering to Foghorn Leghorn, "Awright, you big-mouthed bantam….preach!"
Valiant turned his head, and I followed his gaze, where I noticed Maroon walking up to Jessica, taking her arm and saying something to her, and the two left to talk privately. Valiant followed them.
I didn't have time to think about what just happened when Foghorn cleared his throat and began his sermon.
He drawled, "Today we commit the body of Brother Acme into the cold, cold, I say, I say, the cold, cold ground. We say goodbye to a man who was more generous than a homely widow with Sunday supper. Why, when Toonkind was splattered forth upon this landscape, we wandered these hills without a home, that is, until Brother Acme painted up his backyard for us to live in, thereby creating the old, I say old neighborhood…Toontown."
He droned on like this, and my eyes wandered upon Casper the friendly ghost accidentally scaring away Donald Duck, daffy Duck, Baby Huey, Hippety Hopper, Dick Tracy and Tubby the Tuba when he asked if someone would be his friend. (The old "IT'S A G-G-G-G-HOSSTTT! AHHHHH!" bit. You know what I'm talking about, right?)
Eddie came back from wherever he had followed Jessica and Maroon to, when Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, and human actors Humphrey Bogart and Clark Gable came driving up the hill to play golf, heaven knows where. I couldn't hear the conversation very well, but this was the best I could make out.
Bugs stepped out of the car and turned to Valiant, chewing a carrot. "Pardon me, Doc," he said, " I hate to interrupt your bird watchin', but is this the right boneyard for the Acme funeral?"
Valiant glanced at the four of them, decked out in golf playing outfits. Bogart was about to say something, but Bugs cut him off, "I know, I know, Doc… tis a hill of beans in this crazy, mixed up world."
He turned to Gable and said "Don't it bother you that he's always sayin' the same thing?"
Foghorn wrapped up his sermon. "We shed no tears for we know that Marvin is going to a better place. That high, high, I say that high-larious place in the sky."
With that, the Harvey Toons jack-in-the-box logo springing out of Acme's casket to the tune of "Pop Goes the Weasel" with a giant funeral wreath attached. The dirt was filled in by several cartoon buzzards, and eventually, it was only Eddie, Margaret and I left at the gravesite.
I whispered to Margaret "Could you maybe wait in the car? I'd like a moment alone to say a prayer for Mr. Acme." She said of course, and waited in her car.
He glanced over at me, and said, "Oh. It's you. I thought it was Captain Cleaver. He's from T.P.D, in Homicide." A long and awkward pause followed. "You know, I hate this place, kid." He said, suddenly turning towards me. "I always hated this place. Come on," he waved over to me, heading towards the right, "I wanna show you something."
He led me down a small hill where we stopped at a large marker labeled "Valiant". It bore three names. One read "Fredrick Valiant, Beloved Father and Husband, March 24th 1865-May 27th 1916". The second was, "Elizabeth Valiant, Beloved Wife and Mother, August 2nd 1869- March 15th 1926".
The final one read "Theodore J. Valiant, Brother, June 22nd 1895-August 13th 1942"
"Your family?" I guessed. I knew who Teddy was, but the first two must be his parents. Freddy and Betty, and their sons, Teddy and Eddie. Cute rhyme.
Eddie looked at me with a lost, distant look on his face. "Yeah… and Teddy was my brother. He was the brains behind our cases, and he did a lot of the detecting, while I did a lot of the legwork. He was a regular clothes-horse. Raked up high bills at Bullock's. He loved to dance, too. He loved Glenn Miller and all those Big Band leaders. We did almost everything together, even when we were kids, growing up in the circus with Ma and Pop. He was the one that brought Dolores and me together back when she was still our secretary. God, I remember back in Catalina like it was yesterday. It was August, back in '42; a few days before the accident that killed him. We goofed around, taking pictures and posing with sombreros and ukuleles… back when I still knew how to goof around. God damn it I miss him." His voice broke slightly. There was a silence for a few seconds. I really wished I could have met Teddy Valiant. He seemed like a truly great man. Without him, I truly think Eddie was…incomplete. It was Eddie and Teddy, Teddy and Eddie, Valiant and Valiant. Now…. it's just Valiant.
"Five years, yesterday." said Eddie, startling me. "Five years of staring down at the bottom of a bottle. You don't know what it's like, kid. You haven't lost someone you love."
"Mr. Valiant, there are many ways to lose someone you love. Right now, I'm stuck thousands of miles away from my family, and I have no idea if they even know where I am. I'm as lost to them as Teddy is to you, practically, and I can assure you, it hurts like crazy. We're both lost now, you and I. We're in the same boat."
I waited for him to say something, but he said nothing. "The only way we can find our way back is to let the past go already. It's dragging you down, and it's dragging me down."
He snorted derisively. "You gotta be what.. 18? What part of your past could you possibly regretting?"
"I did something incredibly stupid that wound me up here. I didn't even tell anyone I did it, and now my family's probably worried to death about me."
"Is that all? I'm practically responsible for Teddy's death. I was the one who wanted to go into a little dive down on Yukster Street in Toontown to chase this guy who'd stolen a zillion simoleons from the Toontown bank. He dropped a piano on us from 15 stories….. I can still see that last look on Teddy's face when I realized it wasn't a Toon piano. He was still laughing, thinking we could just walk it off. I can still hear the sound of that wood splintering as Teddy was crushed under it. It shoulda been me that was under there. I shoulda pushed him out of the way."
His voice was raw and harsh. This took a lot to open up to me like this. After all these years it was still a fresh wound.
"You're right, Mr. Valiant," I began, at first not knowing what to say (I'm usually bad at comforting people), but I found my voice and said, "I don't know what you went through, but I do know that you aren't defined by what you did or didn't do that day. You aren't the one to blame for that. If you keep looking backwards, you can't go forwards. The last thing you say Teddy was doing before the piano fell was laughing, right? Remember him like that. He'd want you to remember him like that. It's important to remember him like that. And it wouldn't hurt to crack a smile every now and then, you know. A wise rabbit once told me that a laugh can be a very powerful thing."
I turned to face him directly, "Why, sometimes in life, it's the only weapon we have." Okay, this was pushing it. Roger already said that to him, so I was waiting for a how-did-you-know-that look, but I got nothing.
Instead, he smiled bitterly and said "Do you expect me to go out there and fight my demons -or whatever you're trying to say I should do-with a laugh?" he asked, bitterly.
"No, but I do expect you to not give up." Remembering what Uncle George and I talked about, I said, "Laughter makes us human. That's what these Toons are really for. We need something to recapture that pure love, and joy when we were young, before the world royally screwed us up. Toons are the physical embodiment of that pure love and innocence and imagination, and if we lose that, if we lose those basic things that make us human. We might as well be nothing. Be thankful you're still alive. Don't sit there wallowing in alcohol and regret Teddy wouldn't want that, I'm sure. You're not a pickle, so don't brine like one. And God knows that you've probably consumed enough alcohol over the past few years to brine and preserve you for a century. But just…just don't give up. That's my point. You need to live again. You need to solve this case of yours. Go home, back to your office and solve this thing. You'll feel better when this is all over. Everything will be different then."
"How do you know?"
"It's just a feeling. You helped almost everyone in Toontown at some point or another, I hear. It's time to help yourself. Don't let the one bad thing that happened to you stop you from living again."
After what seemed like an eternity, he said, "You're right, kid. I don't know why I opened up to a total stranger, but you're right." He exhaled through his nose slowly, "I'll go. I don't know what I'm going to do, exactly, with what I got about Acme's murder, but you're right."
"Trust me. All the answers are waiting at your office. You just have to find out where they're hiding. I know it still hurts to talk about this, but the only person who can make it stop is you. So don't drink and feel sorry about yourself. Don't be a pickle. Be…. Be a cucumber."
He gave me an odd look, but flashed a small smile. "Thanks for that bit of…incredibly weird advice, kid. You're not half bad. If I need you for anything, I'll drop you a line. I still got your card."
"I think you had better just come and pay a call personally."
"I will"
"Oh…Mr. Valiant?" I called.
"Yeah, kid?"
"Good luck."
"Thanks, kid. Thank you for that."
With that, he left, headed to his car, while I headed towards Aunt Margret's car. Our trip back was mostly in silence, but I'm sure she heard much of what I said to Eddie. I guess I did ok, then.
Later that afternoon, I pulled Uncle George aside and asked him to drive me back to LA.
"Is it important? Does it have to do with the case?" he asked, urgently.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm going to be risking my neck spying on what'll happen next. If you don't hear from me- and I'll call when I'm done- I'll probably be Downtown. In Downtown Toontown, that is."
He said, concerned, "I certainly hope you aren't going to do anything illegal, young man," I felt like a kid getting scolded by his father. "But," he continued, "if you really feel you know what you're doing, I suppose I can't stop you. After all, my job, along with Toontown itself, hangs in the balance."He said as we got in his car.
"It's not nearly as dramatic as that."
"What's your plan, anyway?"
"My plan," I said, as we were on our way to LA, "is to spy on what I know will happen next." Briefly, I told him what you'll be reading shortly enough. "Probably, I'll grab a weapon- something heavy- and try to help Valiant. My goal is to be kidnapped by the weasels, and hopefully distract them long enough so Eddie can solve the case without them on his tail."
George said darkly, "I know what those weasels are capable of. Make your one phone call to me, and I'll be over there as soon as I can to get you out of there, if you need me to. Only if you need me to. They'll listen to what I have to say if you use my name. Toons have a lot of respect for their animators." We pulled up at the corner of South hope and 11th and I climbed out of the car. "Be safe, Adam. Please?"
"I will, Uncle George!" I called, as he drove back to Thousand Oaks.
My next move was to hide in the back seat of Eddie's car. I didn't have too much trouble finding it, because his deep turquoise '41 Ford Deluxe Coupe, which he left unlocked, parked in front of the office building. It wasn't too long before I was fully covered by his trench coat on the floor in the back seat, while Eddie climbed into the car, and headed off towards the Ink and Paint Club, to search for Acme's will in Jessica Rabbit's dressing room (this was the deleted scene that was in between where Eddie leaves Roger with Dolores in the bar, and Jessica says "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way.")
He parked, and got out of his car. I heard some trash cans clattering, and decided it was safe to leave. While he had climbed in the window, and fell right on his kiester, I peeked in the window to see him opening the door, and Bongos, that gorilla bouncer knocked him out cold.
I knew he'd be all right, so pretty soon, Judge Doom and Jessica entered the room, and Eddie came to a few minute later.
Jessica, with her enormous bosom, tiny waist, shapely legs and backside, was on her bed. She was putting on a pair of stockings under her revealing, red sequined dress. She was a red-head, with a Veronica Lake peek-a-boo hairstyle, green eyes, and purple eye-shadow. She also wore long purple elbow-length gloves.
"Pick him up," Doom said to the gorilla, who lifted him into a chair.
"Rummaging in a lady's dressing room!" exclaimed the Judge nastily, "Tisk, tisk, tisk! What were you looking for, Mr. Valiant?" he said, leering at him from over the rims of his antique spectacles.
Jessica said, from her seat on the bed, "Last week, some heavy breather wanted one of my nylons as a souvenir."
"'Look, doll," Eddie said to her, "If I'd have wanted underwear, I'd have broken into Fredrick's of Hollywood! You know damn well I was looking for Marvin Acme's will!"
Doom said, "Marvin Acme had no will. I should know. The estate's in my jurisdiction.", and he sat down in a chair, facing him.
Eddie said, "'There's a will, all right! She (indicating Jessica) and R.K Maroon killed him for it!'"
Jessica said, adjusting her other stocking, "That's absurd!"
Eddie countered with "Someone else was in here looking for the will, too! Probably Maroon's flunkies! And I would've caught them too, if cheater here (meaning Bongos) hadn't interrupted me!"
Doom looked at Eddie, and the gorilla reached out to take a swing at him, and Doom said, "Take it easy, Bongos! We'll handle Mr. Valiant our own way." And he got this smirk on his face and said: "Downtown.'"
Eddie obviously thought he meant Downtown, as in the L.A P.D, so he said "Downtown! Fine! Let's get a hold of Santino!" (referring to his friend, Lt. Santino)
But Doom said "Oh. I'm not talking about that Downtown. I'm talking about Downtown Toontown."
The smile melted off of Eddie's face. Smartass and the rest of the members of the Toon Patrol walked in and said "You were warned to say outa this case, Valiant! But you didn't!" He walked over to Doom and smiled menacingly.
Eddie got really scared then, and began to beg, "No, not Toontown, No, please, no!", and the next thing I know the Toon Patrol drags Eddie kicking and screaming out the door.
This was my moment, I decided. I reached around for something I could use as a weapon before Eddie was dragged away to where I couldn't help him, and my fingers found…. an old teapot. How was this going to help? I dug through the piles of junk again and found a bent, but heavy lead pipe! But it was stuck, and when I finally freed it, everything else in the pile clattered free. I cringed, hoping they wouldn't hear it. I wanted to get in there as stealthily as possible, but, joy of joys, the Judge stuck his head out the window, shouted something I couldn't hear as I kept on trying to lift up the pipe, and I felt hands grab me. Several pairs of hands with spindly fingers and sharp claws.
"Looks like we got us a Peeping Tom, boss!" rasped a husky Spanish accent in my ear. My nose was assaulted with the reek of Brylcreem hair pomade, cheap whiskey, nasty cologne, and tobacco. Soon, as Greasy and Wheezy took my left arm, and the two new weasels, Slimy and Flasher latched onto my right. Smartass stood in front of me, puffing on a Cuban cigar. Inhaling a pungent plume of smoke he blew in my face, he sneered, "Put him in the back of the van, boys! Let's take 'em both Downtown!"
I struggled to free myself from their grasps, and I shouted, "Let me go! I want to see a lawyer! Let me go, dammit!"
"No way in hell we're letting you go, kid!" said Smartass venomously, "You were caught spying- and don't tell me you wasn't, cause I saw your mug in the window- and do you wanna know what we do with spies down in Toontown?"
Psycho giggled: "Heheheheheheheee! What do you want to do with him, boss? The Chinese finger trap? Wet willies?"
"No, Psycho: those are only for Toons. The kid gets something real special, don't he boys?"
A chorus of "yups", "yeahs" and "uh-huhs" from the other Weasels sounded off just then as each one looked at me with various degrees of sinister grins.
Slowly moving around me, Smartass said, "First, kid, we'll take you down to the jail cells, where you'll spend a little while thinking about what you did. Then," he running the tip of his switchblade down my cheep and digging it in slightly, "We work our magic on you!"
"The Pig-head treatment, boss?" asked Greasy, hopefully.
"No, men," said Judge Doom from behind us, "Save the Pig-head treatment for Valiant. Leave the boy to me."
"You gonna give the kid the Third Degree, boss?" asked Smartass.
"Yes, Sergeant. Giving him the Third Degree will make him tell us everything we know."
He nodded to the Weasels. "Toss him in with Valiant. I daresay he won't complain."
The back of their black '37 Dodge Humpback opened, where Eddie was restrained in the holding cell. I was tossed in the back of the van like a sack of flour. Before the door was slammed shut, I demanded, "Well, aren't you at least going to read me my rights?"
"As far as we're 'discerned', kid, you have no rights!" spat Smartass, as he slammed the doors shut, engulfing me in total darkness.
"Let me go!" I said, through gritted teeth.
"Is that you, kid?" called an incredulous Valiant, muffled from the back of the car.
"I don't know. Tell me, is it?' I replied, sarcastically as the Weasels dragged me closer to the car.
"Kind of sounds like you."
"That's a load off my mind. I'm never sure these days." I snapped.
"What are you doing here?" called Valiant. "Get out of here! It's dangerous!"
"The kid don't especially got a choice!" sneered Smartass as the back of their black '37 Dodge Humpback opened, where Eddie was restrained in the holding cell. I was tossed in the back of the van like a sack of flour. Before the door was slammed shut, I demanded, "Well, aren't you at least going to read me my rights?"
"As far as we're 'discerned', kid, you have no rights!" spat Smartass, as he slammed the doors shut.
