At Last an Our Gang/Wizard of Oz Crossover

In 1962, as described yesterday, Starlight Musical Theatre of San Diego held tryouts for a production of The Wizard of Oz, using music from the MGM movie.

To play the Tin Woodman the company chose a local television personality: Johnny Downs!

Downs brought decades of experience as performer, starting with acting in Our Gang comedies in the mid-1920s. In fact, he had sung and danced alongside MGM’s Tin Man, Jack Haley, in such movies as Coronado and Pigskin Parade, which also featured fourteen-year-old Judy Garland.

Downs appears in this photograph scanned from the 3 June San Diego Union with Cammy Wesson as Dorothy, Ray Wilde as the Cowardly Lion, and John Bryce as the Scarecrow.

The director was Charlie Cannon, a co-founder of Starlight Musical Theatre (San Diego Civic Light Opera Company) years before. In 1978 the San Diego Evening Tribune reported:

Cannon is most proud of his “Wizard of Oz” production in 1962 featuring Johnny Downs, a TV personality, as the tin man. “We put close to 5,000 in the bowl for that one,” he said. “We even had people sitting in the aisles, and Downs would stay after the show for an hour signing autographs.”

That number may be an exaggeration since on 10 Aug 1964 the San Diego Union reported that 3,800 people was “a record crowd” at the Starlight Bowl. However, that record was set by the 1964 production of The Wizard of Oz—the show was so popular that the company brought it back after only two years.

In the revival Johnny Downs once again played the Tin Woodman, and was often listed first in newspaper notices. Cammy Wesson, now a college student, returned as Dorothy. Ole Kittleon played the Scarecrow and Forest Gantz the Cowardly Lion.

A new director reblocked the action for that run. In an interview with a high-school classmate for the 12 Aug 1964 Coronado Eagle and Journal, Wesson described having trouble at first knowing which way to turn. She added: “Johnny Downs, who plays the Tin Woodsman [sic], has adapted very well, but he’s a professional.”

Cammy Wesson went on to careers as an elementary school teacher, realtor, and financial advisor. As a sexagenarian back in Coronado, she took up marathon running.

The Wizard of Balboa Park

The San Diego Civic Light Opera Association was founded in 1945. Its first show was Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado in the Wegeforth Bowl at the San Diego Zoo.

Because of San Diego’s ideal weather, the organization staged its shows outside. It soon took on the name of the Starlight Opera.

On July 29, 1946, the San Diego Union and Daily Bee said: “If the new Starlight Opera company becomes any more popular it will have to move to Ford Bowl.” That was the amphitheater in Balboa Park built for a 1935 expo.

Indeed, the Starlight Opera Company was soon using that larger space. Around 1950 the amphitheater became known as the Starlight Bowl. (An amphitheater in Burbank was using the same name at that time, confusing matters.)

The Light Opera Association also widened its repertoire to include new, popular shows and operated under the same of Starlight Musical Theatre.

Because the amphitheater was right under the main flight path to Lindbergh Field, performers learned to freeze when a loud plane passed overhead. Starlight Musical Theatre’s old website called this “One of the most artistic innovations of productions at the Starlight Bowl.”

In 1962 the Starlight company planned a summer season of The Music Man, Can-Can, The Wizard of Oz, and Bye Bye Birdie.

About the third show the 7 Apr 1962 San Diego Evening Tribune explained:

“The Wizard of Oz,” was adapted originally for the stage by L. Frank Baum from his classic children’s story. It was first presented in 1903, starring the team of Fred Stone and David Montgomery. Their leading lady was Anna Laughlin, the mother of singer Lucy Monroe.

The version of “Wizard” which Starlight is using has been updated by Frank Gabrielson, and features the songs of Harold Arlen and E. Y. Harburg, composed for the highly successful 1939 movie.

That adaptation had originally been commissioned by the St. Louis Municipal Opera in 1942 and is therefore known as “the MUNY Version.” As the licensor says, it “features characters and events not seen in the MGM film”—and it also leaves out several characters and events.

The 1962 San Diego Evening Tribune article was headlined “Little Munchkins Needed for Starlight ‘Wizard of Oz’,” and its main news was:

Casting for Starlight’s production of “The Wizard of Oz” will be held for three days, instead of the usual two, due to the large number of children needed in the cast. . . .

The youngsters will be used for the Wizard of Oz’s “army,” composed of one private and 24 generals. They will also be used as munchkins—the little people enslaved by the Wicked Witch of the East and freed by Dorothy. . . .

Roles open for adults include that of the Scarecrow—which also requires dancing ability; the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion. The leading role of Dorothy, calls for a teenage soprano with acting experience, age 18 at the maximum.

In 2010, after more than sixty straight years of productions, the San Diego Civic Light Opera Association went out of business. There’s now a Save Starlight campaign to fix up the abandoned amphitheater and stage new concerts and shows there.

TOMORROW: Crossing the streams.

How Johnny Downs Grew Up

I mentioned Our Gang cast member Johnny Downs in this posting on Elmer “Scooter” Lowry going into vaudeville.

Johnny Downs was born in 1913, son of a naval officer, and spent his first years in San Diego. After he showed interest in performing, his mother gave him a Jackie Coogan haircut and brought him to Hollywood.

In 1924 Johnny acted in a couple of the kid-gang series launched after Our Gang’s success: the Reg’lar Kids movie “An Afternoon Tee” and the Juvenile Comedy “Wildcat Willie.” Late in that year the Hal Roach Studio hired him as a day player.

At first Johnny appeared in Our Gang films as a antagonist, but with a long-term contract at $50/week (and a new haircut) he became one of the gang.

When the studio announced Johnny Downs had joined the regular cast, it said he was nine years old. (He was eleven.) He made more than twenty Our Gang movies, remaining a regular until he was thirteen.

Johnny Downs was a handsome kid with a winning smile. He was rarely at the heart of the story, but sometimes his part stood out, as when he played a rich kid wanting friends in “Buried Treasure.” In “Telling Whoppers” he was cast as the neighborhood bully tormenting all the other boys; though he threw himself into the role, Johnny was just too naturally sunny to make it work.

In late 1926 the Hal Roach contract ended. Johnny spent twelve weeks in vaudeville before returning to Hollywood. Over the next few months he portrayed the young version of the hero in a few features: the young Tom Mix in Outlaws Of Red River, the young Fred Thomson in Jesse James, the young James Murray in King Vidor’s The Crowd. He made a brief return to the Our Gang unit to play an adolescent magician sporting a fake beard in “Chicken Feed.”

In 1928 Johnny went out on a vaudeville tour with fellow Hal Roach alumni Mary Kornman and “Scooter” Lowry, as discussed here. He sang a little, danced a little, told stories, showed audiences that sunny smile. Newspapers described his persona as “The All-American Boy.” That tour lasted through August 1929.

During the early 1930s Johnny Downs worked in musical revues, including shows on Broadway. Late in 1934, now an adult, he came back to Hal Roach again for the role of Little Boy Blue in the Laurel and Hardy musical Babes in Toyland.

In 1935 Downs signed with Paramount. Over the next few years he worked steadily as a juvenile lead, headlining small pictures (The First Baby, Blonde Trouble, Bad Boy) and playing small parts in vehicles for bigger stars (Algiers, Pigskin Parade, The Kid from Brooklyn). The lead role in the drag musical comedy All-American Co-Ed brought him back to the Hal Roach Studio again. He starred in a series of shorts for Columbia and a serial for Universal.

Of course, it’s harder to be a juvenile lead when you’ve hit thirty. After World War 2, Downs went back to Broadway. Then he tried television, hosting some shows and acting in others. In 1953, turning forty, Downs settled in Coronado, the region where he’d grown up. For well over a decade he was announcer and afternoon host for a San Diego television station, and also worked in real estate.

Johnny Downs never became a big star, but he was undoubtedly a small one, and he worked in show business for almost fifty years. Of all the regular members of Hal Roach’s Rascals in the silent era, Downs enjoyed the biggest and longest adult acting career.

“Beyond a cute small-boy personality”

In late 1929, Elmer “Scooter” Lowry finished his vaudeville tour with fellow Our Gang veterans Mary Kornman and Johnny Downs. They had been on the road together for well over a year.

Then in October “Scooter” went back out, now teamed with thirteen-year-old Joe Cobb, whose long tenure at the Hal Roach Studio had ended that spring. Their act was called “Two Kids Kidding,” and it lasted into the first weeks of 1930.

For the rest of that year ten-year-old “Scooter” performed as a solo act. In 1931 he teamed up with Peggy Eames and another boy, sometimes falsely billed as an Our Gang alum; their act was called “Doin’ Tough” or “All in Fun,” and it included describing life on a movie set. By that time “Scooter” hadn’t made a film in four years.

Newspaper stories show that “Scooter” Lowry continued to perform in vaudeville through 1935.

That track record raises questions about how “Scooter” left the Hal Roach Studio in the spring of 1927. That departure happened suddenly, not only in the middle of a movie-making season but in the middle of the making of one movie, “Olympic Games.”

A younger castmate, Jean Darling, recalled many years later, “I was told Scooter left because he was rather disruptive. That’s all I know.”

Whatever disruption “Scooter” might have caused at Hal Roach didn’t stop him from headlining on stage, show after show, for at least seven more years. It didn’t stop three more prominent Our Gang performers—Mary, Johnny, and Joe—from signing up to tour with him. He could hit his marks, and he could get along with other kids.

I can imagine different scenarios to explain these circumstances. It’s possible the same energy that made “Scooter” a successful stage performer could wear out people at a movie studio while they were trying to hang lights or have business conversations. It’s possible the source of disruption wasn’t “Scooter” but his mother, pushing for more pay or more time in the spotlight.

Unfortunately for “Scooter” Lowry’s show-biz career, vaudeville was fading away in the early 1930s. Already live acts were competing for time with movies, and after sound came in, many theaters shifted to showing movies only.

On top of that, “Scooter” grew up and stopped being so cute. Reviewers were less impressed by his act than when he was eight, or maybe they just didn’t hold back. So there are notices like this, in the August 21, 1930, San Francisco Chronicle:

“Scooter” Lowry, the “tuff guy” of Our Gang comedy, makes a personal visit. The kid is clever. He has plenty of poise for such a small tad, and his dancing is really good. It is an act that makes its principal appeal to the youngsters, however. “Scooter” naturally has little to offer beyond a cute small-boy personality.

The June 6, 1931, Milwaukee Sentinel:

Scooter Lowry, one of the “Our Gang” screen comedians, heads the vaudeville bill. Scooter is the “tough guy” of Hal Roach’s kid pictures. But on the stage he impresses mothers in the audience as being a gentlemanly little fellow, and an industrious one. He tap dances well, tells proper stories and sings. His voice isn’t very big, but his smile is. An indulgent audience gave him a hand.

And ultimately the April 19, 1935, Worcester Evening Gazette:

Scooter Lowry, once a member of Hal Roach’s “Our Gang” in the movies, is on hand, taking the stage all to his little self to entertain the assemblage. Master Lowry dances a bit, sings a little, and, unfortunately, tells a joke or two.

“Scooter” turned sixteen at the end of that year, and there’s no evidence of him working in show business again.

COMING UP: Family troubles.

“A tiny 8-year-old comedian”

As discussed back here, seven-year-old Elmer Lowry lost his contract with the Hal Roach Studio in the spring of 1927. By that fall he was trying the vaudeville circuit.

Later articles suggested that “Scooter” had performed in vaudeville before going to Hollywood in early 1926, but his stage experience seems to have been limited to local shows and amateur benefits. Now he was competing at the professional level.

Older Our Gang kids had made that transition. Ernie Morrison turned to vaudeville in 1924 at age eleven after his father unsuccessfully asked Hal Roach for a raise. Two years later the studio supplied a “trailer” of clips from Ernie’s movies to introduce his act.

Mary Kornman and Mickey Daniels outgrew the movie series in 1926 at age eleven and twelve, respectively. Roach filmed them “riding a goat cart from a movie studio to a vaudeville theater,” according to the Lucky Corner website, and they went out on the stage together. When Mary had to drop out of the tour for medical reasons, another Our Gang player, nine-year-old Peggy Eames, replaced her.

Once Mary Kornman had recovered in 1927, she was free to tour, and she joined Elmer “Scooter” Lowry and his older sister Lila in an act variously titled “Acting Out” and “Crashing Into Vaudeville.” Mary and “Scooter” had overlapped on only three movies, but she had been the series’ leading lady and films he’d performed in were still being released that fall, so they could draw audiences as movie stars.

In February 1928 the Chattanooga Times–Free Press, still claiming “Scooter” as a home-town boy, reported that he had “signed a two-year contract with the Keith circuit and has left for an eighty weeks’ tour throughout the United States.” Now the team was “Scooter,” Mary, and another former gang member Johnny Downs, age fourteen, as shown above. Their headlining act, “In and Out of the Movies,” included song, dance, and celebrity impressions.

Reviewers said good things about the kids’ act, and it’s striking how many singled out “Scooter.” For example, the May 8 Arkansas Gazette:

“Scooter” Lowry is easily the smallest and most popular of the three. He is only eight years old and he is a wonder for his years. . . . He caricatures Charlie Chaplin, dances and is a natural little comedian.

The June 18 Grand Rapids Press:

One of the hits on the highly entertaining new bill at Ramona is a tiny 8-year-old comedian, Scooter Lowry, the littlest and biggest member of the trio of clever youngsters from Hal Roach’s “Our Gang” film comedies who present the headline act. The kids are clever, Scooter’s imitation of Charlie Chaplin, his tap dancing and characterization of a “tough guy” would do credit to a comedian three or four times his age. . . . [Mary and Johnny] are good entertainers, but young Scooter is a riot.

The July 23 San Francisco Chronicle:

“Scooter” Lowry…is so preternaturally old, with a wizened, withered face, one rather places him among the midgets. He is tiny and wins the greater part of the applause for the act.

The July 20 Los Angeles Evening Express:

Roach Rascal Orpheum Bill Show-Stealer

A LAD about five hands high, and not very big hands at that, who talks out of the side of his mouth like George Cohan, walks like “The Brooklyn Kid,” and hoofs like George White, is the hit of the bill at the Orpheum this week. . . .

…it was little “Scooter” Lowry, the original tough guy of Hal Roach’s famous gang of rascals, who stole the honors last night. . . . The older pair dance and sing and pantomime very cutely, but “Scooter’s” swank and swagger lift the act into a featured niche.

The August 4 Billboard magazine:

Mary Kornman, Johnny Downs and “Scooter” Lowry, billed as “Our Gang” kids, scored in a manner that would make any performer envious, altho Lowry was the whole act. It is obvious he would not have fared as well without the support of the other two, whose dancing and personality made the act stand out more strongly.

Mary, Johnny, and “Scooter” toured together at least through August 1929.

TOMORROW: Back on the road.

“Film World Opens Doors Wide”

In November 1925, the New York American announced a “Motion Picture Contest” for children. For weeks it promoted that competition with articles and pictures of the entrants.

The top prize was $1,000, a trip to Culver City, and an appearance in a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer movie at a weekly salary of $200 with an option for a two-year contract. The judges included Louis B. Mayer, Irving Thalberg, and other MGM executives.

On 4 Jan 1926, the newspaper announced the winner: “little Irene Nanette Butler, of 425 Riverside Drive,” age three. More stories about her ran over the next two days.

Later in the year little Irene appeared in The Fire Brigade along with the winner of a similar contest in California. She never made another picture.

On 13 January, however, the New York American shared an additional story with these headlines:

Film World Opens Doors Wide to “Skipper,” 5

$1,000 Check Starts Child Toward Fame

Elmer Lowery, Second Prize Winner in New York American Contest, to Go West

In fact, Elmer’s surname was spelled Lowry, his family nickname was “Skippy,” and he had turned six years old in December. But he was receiving all the benefits of the top prize, more than originally announced for the second-place winner, so who could complain?

In February, Elmer Lowry started performing before the cameras in Culver City—not at MGM but at the smaller Hal Roach Studio, in its Our Gang series. From then on he was “Scooter.”

The New York American said the boy came from Roosevelt, Long Island. But on 8 Aug 1926 the Chattanooga Times–Free Press claimed him for that city:

Chattanooga Boy in ‘Our Gang’ Comedy

Elmer (“Skippy”) Lowry, a Chattanooga boy, now in Hollywood, will appear at the Tivoli theater during the first part of the week in the latest “Our Gang” comedy, entitled “Thundering Fleas.”

“Skippy” is the son of H. D. Lowry, who is now connected with the Read house. “Skippy,” who is only 7 years old, has shown for some time an extraordinary histrionic ability that won the admiration of friends and that made him participate in several benefit shows.

While in New York with his mother, the New York American opened a contest, looking for young talent in the motion picture field. “Skippy” entered and won a prize of $1,000, securing at the same time a contract with Hal Roach as one of the cast in all the new “Our Gang” comedies.

Elmer’s father was named Willard D. Lowry, but even the local press didn’t get that right.

Elmer’s mother heading off to New York was probably a sign of trouble in the Lowry family. On 25 May 1927 the Knoxville News-Sentinel ran this United Press dispatch out of Chattanooga:

“Our Gang” Boy Hardly Needed Father’s Aid

“Yes, judge, I provided for my children as long as they needed it, but they don’t need it now,” said William D. Lowry when applying for a divorce before Judge Yarnell.

“But why don’t they need your help; they aren’t grown?” asked the court.

“Well, you see, judge, the youngest, my seven-year-old boy, Elmer Camden Lowry, belongs to the ‘Our Gang’ kids in the movies, and he makes $350 a week himself,” was Lowry’s reply.

He got the divorce from Anna Lowry on grounds of desertion.

(A briefer version appeared in that day’s Imperial Valley Press.)

Anna Lowry having taken the children off to Hollywood, Willard Lowry declared that she had left him. And he got out of child support on the grounds that Elmer was making so much money for the family—$350 a week!

In fact, Hal Roach was paying “Scooter” Lowry only $60 per week.

Even more sadly, the same month that divorce came through, the studio quietly ended its contract with “Scooter,” as I related yesterday. The movies he made in early 1927 would be released through the end of the year, but he no longer brought in a steady income.

According to IMDB, Elmer “Scooter” Lowry acted in only one more film: a small role in Chinatown Charlie, an independent production now lost in whole or in part.

COMING UP: An ex–gang member.

Elmer “Scooter” Lowry’s Short Movie Career

Elmer Lowry was born in 1919 in New York City. By the age of five he was singing and dancing on stage. His family called him “Skippy.”

According to later articles, the boy won first prize in a dance contest and came to the attention of Hal Roach.

By February 1926, Elmer was filming his first Our Gang movie, “Thundering Fleas.” His nickname became “Skooter” or “Scooter.” After a few months his weekly pay rose from $50 to $60. That year “Scooter” Lowry made eight Our Gang films, plus a cameo appearance in the feature 45 Minutes From Hollywood.

“Scooter” was never the lead character, but in the gang he stood out in a couple of ways. He was athletic, somersaulting around in “Shivering Spooks.” And though he was one of the smaller boys in the gang, he was cast as the tough guy; in “Seeing the World” he offers to beat up an Italian kid for no reason at all.

The July 1927 issue of Photoplay magazine contained this anecdote:

Rare intuition belongs to “Scooter” Lowry, smallest and most acrobatic member of “Our Gang.” He was twirling and twisting on a rail near Hal Roach’s office. At the door stood Roach, talking with a business conferee. “Scooter,” with small boy impetuosity, attempted to enter the conversation.

“Go on with your gymnastics, Scooter, and let us talk business,” Roach admonished.

But “Scooter” kept on with his turns and talk.

“Keep still, ‘Scooter’! I can’t even think with all that noise.”

“Scooter” arose with dignity—

“How did I know you were trying to think?”

Roach and his friend retired to his office.

That’s a cute story, but the actual incident might have had a darker side.

By the time that article appeared, “Scooter” Lowry was no longer on the Hal Roach Studio payroll. He’d been let go in April 1927 in the middle of filming “Olympic Games,” the fifth Our Gang movie made that year. The studio paid out three weeks’ salary and sent him off.

At that time a little blonde girl named Jean Darling was becoming a series regular. Decades later, fans asked her if she remembered what happened to “Scooter.” Darling replied, “I was told Scooter left because he was rather disruptive. That’s all I know.”

Looks like it might have been a bad idea to interrupt the boss’s conversation.

TOMORROW: How it all started.

“The urchin who treads on the garden hose”

Film narrative began with the figure of a mischievous child.

The very first movies were “actualités” documenting how people, animals, or machines moved around in real life. The novelty and spectacle of seeing those actions on screen provided all the entertainment.

As one famous example, in early 1895 Louis and Auguste Lumière first exhibited their improved cinématographe with footage of workers leaving their factory. Exciting!

That summer, the brothers decided instead to stage a fictional event for their camera. The result is the oldest known movie with a plot (beginning, middle, and end) and the oldest film comedy.

The Lumières claimed to take inspiration from a prank played by their baby brother Edouard, born in 1884. If so, Edouard may have taken inspiration from comics, since cartoonists had been drawing variations on this prank since he was a baby. Antoine Sausverd rounded up examples in this article for Topfferiana. Lance Rickman discussed their cinematic influence in an article titled “Bande dessinee and the cinematograph: visual narrative in 1895.”

A journalist for the newspaper Les Allobroges published an interview about this movie with the Lumières’ former gardener Jean-François Clerc in 1949. In translation:

Suddenly, one fine summer morning, the two young men came to find me at the end of the garden where I was working, followed by that little rascal Edouard, all three carrying an extraordinary set of equipment. Louis set up the tripod, Auguste added his crank box on top, and Edouard went to get a garden hose a few steps away. Here was a dark lurking mystery in which I was to pay the price, while raising myself to the rank of the world’s leading film actor.

When everything was set up, while Louis was already holding the handle of his curious box, Auguste said to me: “François, take the jet and water in front of you, without worrying about us. Edouard, by pressing with his foot on the hose, will give you or take away water.” Things went as agreed and that’s how I watered in jerky jets, the water sometimes splashing in my face, while Louis and Auguste kept turning their famous handle, continually directing the glass eye of this box at me.

No footage of this action featuring Edouard has survived. Clerc may have misremembered his costar, or that first footage was a test of concept and the brothers came back for a more planned filming. Louis Lumière himself said in a 1948 interview:

Although my recollections are not very accurate, I think I may say that the idea of the scenario was suggested to me by a farce by my younger brother Edouard, whom we unhappily lost while an airman during the 1914-1918 war. He was then too young to play the part of the urchin who treads on the garden hose. I replaced him by a young apprentice from the carpenter’s workshop of the factory, Duval, who died after performing his duties as chief packer of the works for almost forty-two years. As regards the waterer, the part was played by our gardener M. Clerc, who is still alive after being employed at the works for forty years.

Different sources say young Duval’s first name was Daniel or Benoît.

In late 1895 the Lumières began to exhibit a 40-second movie variously titled “Le jardinier (The Gardener),” “Le jardinier et l’espiègle (The Gardener and the Mischief-Maker),” and finally “L’arroseur arrosé (The Sprinkler Sprinkled).” That movie has a clear plot. The boy steps on the gardener’s hose. Puzzled, the gardener peers at the nozzle, The boy hops off the hose, making water squirt into the gardener’s face. The gardener chases down the prankster and spanks him. The gardener goes back to work while the chastened boy walks off (with a glance at the camera).

The next year, the brothers filmed another version in a different garden with more depth of scene. This time, the prankster was played by a 22-year-old factory employee named Léon Trotobas. In 45 seconds the action comes full circle with the gardener spraying him back. (Some writers treat this as the first version. I’m agreeing with the sequence described by Movies Silently and others.)

“L’arroseur arrosé” was such a hit that the Lumières commissioned Marcellin Auzolle to draw a poster showing an audience enjoying it—the oldest known movie poster to show part of an actual movie.

Other moviemakers like George Méliès copied “L’arroseur arrosé,” sometimes exactly, sometimes trying to top the action. The 1899 British version, “The Biter Bit,” runs more than a minute and shows the gardener chasing the prankster (another man) around a tree before spraying him. Thus film slapstick grew.

Are You Gonna?

“Are You Gonna Be My Girl?” performed by WJM (William Lipton, Jeremy Yun, and Max Simas, with guest bassist Collin Simas, uploaded to YouTube on 9 May 2013)

“Are You Gonna Be My Girl?” performed by The Runarounds (William Lipton, Axel Ellis, Jeremy Yun, Jesse Golliher, and Zendé Murdock, uploaded to YouTube on 10 Feb 2023)

The Runarounds was formed in 2000 for a television show that finally went out on Amazon Prime this month. The five musicians cast as slightly younger musicians for the series have been playing and writing songs together in the meantime, and they’re now touring the east coast.

In the series premiere, the characters bond over the song “Are You Gonna Be My Girl?”, originally by Jet. As the cast notes in interviews, and as this pair of videos shows, most of them have had fun playing that song since they were kids.

“To do it exactly like Douglas Fairbanks”

In 1976 Robert Parrish, an Academy Award–winning film editor and less heralded film director, published his first memoir, Growing Up in Hollywood.

Parrish opened his life story with a incident about himself as a seven-year-old in Columbus, Georgia. He was born in 1916, so that would have occurred in 1923 or so.

This lively anecdote, full of evocative detail, starts with an older boy urging little Robert to fetch some curtains so the neighborhood gang can recreate Douglas Fairbanks’s famous stunt in The Black Pirate: sliding down a ship’s sail with a knife stuck into the canvas to slow himself down.

Robert found a sheet, which the gang hung from an oak branch. The older boy supplied a butcher knife. While most of the fellows slapped wooden swords at each other on the ground, they sent the seven-year-old up the tree to try the stunt first. The scene ended [SPOILER!] with a broken arm.

While he recuperated, Robert’s mother took him to her third viewing of D. W. Griffith’s Broken Blossoms. During that show, he saw a “coming-attractions trailer for Intolerance,” with a shot of director Griffith setting up the action. From then on, Parrish wrote, he was interested in who was in charge of making the movies.

In 1926, the Coca-Cola Company transferred Robert’s father to Los Angeles. He got the chance to work as a child actor in the background of some significant movies, including a couple of Our Gang shorts, Speedy, All Quiet on the Western Front, The Big Trail, and City Lights.

Performing with Fairbanks in The Iron Mask, he learned the secret of that stunt in The Black Pirate. He even got to try it with all the unseen safety effects working. Thus, as in many well-crafted narratives, the details Parrish laid out early came back to have added meaning later.

However, the dates in Parrish’s story don’t add up. The Black Pirate was released in 1926, the year when the family moved to Hollywood, and not three years before.

Intolerance was released in 1916, and Broken Blossoms in 1919. So would a first-run city theater have shown Broken Blossoms four years after its release, with a “coming-attractions trailer” for a movie that was three years older than that?

It seems clear that Parrish’s memories of early movies ran together in his head. In assembling his memoir, he cited movies that had become part of the film studies canon by the 1970s but probably weren’t what he watched in 1923.

But what about the story of trying to slide down a sheet like Douglas Fairbanks and breaking his arm? That was a more particular and memorable experience than sitting in a cinema. And yet Parrish described that stunt being inspired by a movie that didn’t exist until three years afterward. Furthermore, there’s no sword-fighting melée at that point in the The Black Pirate.

I haven’t found any review that points out that discrepancy. In his 2008 biography of Fairbanks, Jeffrey Vance quoted Parrish from his memoir and an interview without noting the age gap. The Golden Globes website silently changed little Robert’s age from seven to ten to match the release date of The Black Pirate.

I offer a different explanation. The movie that the Columbus gang were trying to emulate wasn’t The Black Pirate but Douglas Fairbanks in Robin Hood, released in 1922 (YouTube). That movie showed Fairbanks sliding down a tall curtain—just as a whole bunch of guards run around with swords. The stunt in The Black Pirate was designed to outshine the earlier scene. And it did, both on screen and in Robert Parrish’s memory.