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| Dallas McKennon (source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dallas_McKennon |
It was McKennon's work on Gumby that brought him to the attention of my boss, Will Vinton, when he was casting voice actors for the Claymation version of the children's classic The Little Prince (on YouTube here). Will ended up casting McKennon in two roles: the Blue Fox, whose friendship the Little Prince had to earn with patience; and the Lamplighter, who lives on a planet blessed (or cursed?) with 1,440 sunsets per day.
I remember McKennon, who was about 60 at the time, as a kind, jovial fellow with a ton of talent and energy. He was fun to watch in action, insisting on doing as many takes as necessary to get the parts right. I admired his professionalism, and liked him a lot personally. He seemed to like me, too, because following the recording/filming session, he extended an open invitation to me to visit him at his home in Cannon Beach, on the Oregon coast.
About a year later, I was living in Tolovana Park, just south of Cannon Beach, and had invited some people over for a Claymation film showing. I had borrowed a 16mm projector from a local school, but for some reason the projector was missing the takeup reel—and there was no way to show the films without one. Immediately I thought of McKennon: with all his experience in film, he might have a spare reel he could lend me.
So, audacious jughead that I am, I found McKennon's number in the phone book, called him, and asked if he happened to have a 16mm takeup reel. He said he was pretty sure he had one lying around somewhere, and if I wanted to come get it he'd go look for it and have it ready for me when I arrived. Ten minutes later I was at the front door of McKennon's house—a beautiful, two-story contemporary with massive picture windows facing the iconic Haystack Rock—and he was there to greet me, takeup reel in hand.
I know it's silly to idolize celebrities, to imagine that they are somehow more special than the rest of us, but here was this guy I had grown up watching/hearing on some of my favorite TV shows, taking time out of his busy day to do a virtual stranger this odd little favor. I was not just extremely appreciative, but maybe a little weak in the knees—and struggling not to show it.
I said thank you; he said you're welcome and invited me to call again anytime; and I was on my way, takeup reel in hand, a smile on my face, and the Gumby theme song in my head.
I remember McKennon, who was about 60 at the time, as a kind, jovial fellow with a ton of talent and energy. He was fun to watch in action, insisting on doing as many takes as necessary to get the parts right. I admired his professionalism, and liked him a lot personally. He seemed to like me, too, because following the recording/filming session, he extended an open invitation to me to visit him at his home in Cannon Beach, on the Oregon coast.
About a year later, I was living in Tolovana Park, just south of Cannon Beach, and had invited some people over for a Claymation film showing. I had borrowed a 16mm projector from a local school, but for some reason the projector was missing the takeup reel—and there was no way to show the films without one. Immediately I thought of McKennon: with all his experience in film, he might have a spare reel he could lend me.
So, audacious jughead that I am, I found McKennon's number in the phone book, called him, and asked if he happened to have a 16mm takeup reel. He said he was pretty sure he had one lying around somewhere, and if I wanted to come get it he'd go look for it and have it ready for me when I arrived. Ten minutes later I was at the front door of McKennon's house—a beautiful, two-story contemporary with massive picture windows facing the iconic Haystack Rock—and he was there to greet me, takeup reel in hand.
I know it's silly to idolize celebrities, to imagine that they are somehow more special than the rest of us, but here was this guy I had grown up watching/hearing on some of my favorite TV shows, taking time out of his busy day to do a virtual stranger this odd little favor. I was not just extremely appreciative, but maybe a little weak in the knees—and struggling not to show it.
I said thank you; he said you're welcome and invited me to call again anytime; and I was on my way, takeup reel in hand, a smile on my face, and the Gumby theme song in my head.
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