Film & Movies
CalArts celebrates the 100th birthday of animation pioneer Jules Engel
Todd James Pierce reports on Saturday night’s event, where industry vets Henry Selick, Mark Kirkland and Jorge Guttierrez discussed the impact that Engel’s teachings had on their careers

This past Saturday, film directors and animators gathered to
pay tribute to Hungarian-born artist Jules Engel, a man whose work combined a
modernist orientation of serious art with the commercial leanings of animated
films. This year marks the 100-year
anniversary of his birth. A small man, usually photographed in a chapeau and ascot, with black-rimmed
glasses as though he needed to study the world in detail, Engel is not one of
the celebrated character animators from the Golden Age of animation. No, he did not favor realistic
representation of characters or scenery. His personal films are mostly abstract—a series of shapes and colors
gracing the silver screen.Though
his work is relatively unknown in the animation community, his influence can be
seen in everything from flash animation to afternoon cartoons, from “The
Simpsons” to big budget Hollywood films, such as “Coraline.”
Copyright 2009 Cal Arts. All Rights Reserved
In 1937, Engel moved to Los Angeles with the intention of attending either USC or UCLA, hopefully with the aid of a track scholarship. He had a range of interests: art,
athletics and dance. But instead
of attending USC or UCLA, he enrolled at the Chouinard Art Institute, where he
met many artists employed by Disney. His first studio job was with the Charles Mintz Studio,
where he worked as an inbetweener—that is, as an entry-level animator who
creates drawings that are inserted “inbetween” the more significant pose
drawings produced by senior animators. He worked there for a
year. In 1938, after learning that
Walt Disney needed an animator who also understood ballet, he quit his current
job, where the low-grade animation was entirely commercial, and took a desk at the
Disney Studios, where he choreographed sequences for “Fantasia.”
Engel paired the
movements of classical dance with the whimsy and color of animation.Commercial art combined with high
art. He composed storyboard drawings that, pose-by-pose, defined
the dance sequences for much of the film. His work can clearly be observed in the Chinese Mushroom Dance and the
Russian Thistle Dance.
By
the mid-1940s, Engel had grown tired of the Disney style, with its leanings
toward classical representation, and found work at UPA, where studio executives
were more open to experimentation. There, he worked on the Mr. Magoo cartoons, as well as Gerald McBoing
Boing and Madeline.
By the 1960s, Engel’s interests were moving beyond the world of
commercial animation entirely. He spent time in Paris, where he discussed post-modern
trends with artists such as Man Ray. He developed a stage play that incorporated elements of animation into
its narrative. By now, his
personal art was almost entirely focused on abstraction, shapes and colors, as
though he had completely absorbed the artistic leanings of the age.
Copyright 2009 Cal Arts. All Rights Reserved
After returning to
California, Engel created animation from abstract art. His new aesthetic can be observed in
the films, “Train Landscape” and “CMobile,” both of which use only shapes and
lines to create a visual experience.
But his new aesthetic can be best illustrated in the
film, “Accident,” which features the silhouette of a greyhound running across
the track. “Accident” contains
only 20 individual drawings, but when looped, the drawings present continuous
action: the dog forever running. With
each subsequent loop, Engel begins to erase or unmake the figure of the
dog. At first, a smudge. Then a smear. Then the ghosting of the torso. Until the figure is nothing more than a series of erasure
marks beautifully whispering across the screen.From figure to abstraction in under three minutes.
Copyright 2009 Cal Arts. All Rights Reserved
For the final thirty years of his life, he directed the CalArt’s program
in Experimental Animation.Separate from the school’s program in character animation, Engel’s
program encouraged students to create short animated films with strong personal
meaning. These films often relied
on images and artistic styles that were not
commonly employed in studio
animation. His students included Tim
Burton (producer of “The Nightmare Before Christmas“), Mark Kirkland (director of over 60 episodes of “The Simpsons“), John Lasseter (director
of “Toy Story“), Henry Selick (director
of “James and the Giant Peach” and
“Coraline”), and Stephen Hillenburg
(creator of “SpongeBob Squarepants”).
During this week’s tribute, six graduates of CalArt’s experimental
program explained how Engel’s influenced their later work. Interestingly, in every single example,
these animators explained that Engel’s influence did not direct them toward
abstraction, but rather toward creative experimentation. They remembered him as exacting
yet encouraging, caring yet honest.
Copyright 2009 Cal Arts. All Rights Reserved
The youngest of the animators, Jorge Gutierrez, told the story of Engel
reviewing his audition portfolio for CalArts. By now, well over 80 years old, Engel expressed open
hostility for bland commercial drawing, art that wasn’t tied to personal
expression.“You know what this
is?” Engel asked, pointing to Gutierrez’s cartoon drawing of a barbarian.
“A barbarian?” Guitterez ventured.
“No,” Engel said. “It’s crap.”
Then Engel turned to a different page, where he started to chuckle at
one of the images. “Is this
supposed to be funny?”
“I don’t know.”
Engel stopped laughing then deadpanned the young artist. “Cause it’s not.”
Engel was about to direct Gutierrez to apply for the Character Animation
program, but then he noticed a set of paintings inspired by Mexican folk
art. He looked at them and asked about the clear influence of
Mexican muralists on Gutierrez’s work. “If you can make this move, and if you make this into a film, then you
can make magic,” he said. “Because
this,” he added, pointing to the painting, “this is who you are. And this is where you’re from. All the other crappy stuff you showed me
is what you like. But this is who
you are.”
A few years after graduating, Gutierrez developed the show “El Tigre” for Nickelodeon, a show that combined commercial animation with images inspired by Mexican folk art.
Mark Kirkland, director of “The
Simpsons,” explained that Engel’s influence could be found in the show’s
inventiveness. As an example, he
explained the development of one of the show’s more famous “sofa gags.” In this particular sequence,
Homer begins life as a single cell organism before evolving into a fish, a
lizard, a rat, an ape, and finally a man. The entire gag last roughly a minute and concludes when Homer arrives
home to find his family sitting on the sofa, with Marge asking: “What took you
so long?”
Copyright 2009 Cal Arts. All Rights Reserved
Lastly, Henry Selick, director of “The
Nightmare Before Christmas” “Coraline,”
explained that it was Jules Engel who showed him that narrative could be
expressed with images outside of the traditions of commercial animation. “It was actually the puppet animated films that Jules showed me,” he said, “that got me hooked on puppet
animation.” To showcase Engel’s
influence, Selick presented clips from his work, including his student films
and “The Nightmare Before Christmas.” But the most direct influence could be
seen in “Coraline.” As Coraline explores the boundaries of
her “Other Mother’s domain,” toward the film’s climax, the world begins to
unmake itself, disintegrating into a collection of lines and boxes, shapes and
colors, the background images briefly unraveling into the abstract.
Henry Selick (R) waits his turn to speak at Saturday night’s roundtable discussion Photo by Todd James Pierce
The presentation concluded with a reception, where individuals were
invited to view easel displays of Engel’s art—pieces pointedly arranged to demonstrate
that current trends in animation have roots far deeper than the traditions of
Disney, Warner Brothers and UPA. They extend into experimentation and abstraction, the type of art Engel once
constructed into film.
Copyright 2009 Cal Arts. All Rights Reserved
Did you enjoy today’s story? If so, then head on over to ToddJamesPierce.com to check out some of this author’s other articles.
Film & Movies
Before He Was 626: The Surprisingly Dark Origins of Disney’s Stitch

Hopes are high for Disney’s live-action version of Lilo & Stitch, which opens in theaters next week (on May 23rd to be exact). And – if current box office projections hold – it will sell more than $120 million worth of tickets in North America.
Stitch Before the Live-Action: What Fans Need to Know
But here’s the thing – there wouldn’t have been a hand-drawn version of Stitch to reimagine as a live-action film if it weren’t for Academy Award-winner Chris Sanders. Who – some 40 years ago – had a very different idea in mind for this project. Not an animated film or a live-action movie, for that matter. But – rather – a children’s picture book.
Sanders revealed the true origins of Lilo & Stitch in his self-published book, From Pitch to Stitch: The Origins of Disney’s Most Unusual Classic.

From Picture Book to Pitch Meeting
Chris – after he graduated from CalArts back in 1984 (this was three years before he began working for Disney) – landed a job at Marvel Comics. Which – because Marvel Animation was producing the Muppet Babies TV show – led to an opportunity to design characters for that animated series.
About a year into this gig (we’re now talking 1985), Sanders – in his time away from work – began noodling on a side project. As Chris recalled in From Pitch to Stitch:
“Early in my animation career, I tried writing a picture book that centered around a weird little creature that lived a solitary life in the forest. He was a monster, unsure of where he had come from, or where he belonged. I generated a concept drawing, wrote some pages and started making a sculpted version of him. But I soon abandoned it as the idea seemed too large and vague to fit in thirty pages or so.”
We now jump ahead 12 years or so. Sanders has quickly moved up through the ranks at Walt Disney Animation Studios. So much so that – by 1997 – Chris is now the Head of Story on Disney’s Mulan.


A Monster in the Forest Becomes Stitch on Earth
With Mulan deep in production, Sanders was looking for his next project when an opportunity came his way.
“I had dinner with Tom Schumacher, who was president of Feature Animation at the time. He asked if there was anything I might be interested in directing. After a little reflection, I realized that there was something: That old idea from a decade prior.”
When Sanders told Schumacher about the monster who lived alone in the forest…
“Tom offered the crucial observation that – because the animal world is already alien to us – I should consider relocating the creature to the human world.”
With that in mind, Chris dusted off the story and went to work.
Over the next three months, Sanders created a pitch book for the proposed animated film. What he came up with was very different from the version of Lilo & Stitch that eventually hit theaters in 2002.
The Most Dangerous Creature in the Known Universe
The pitch – first shared with Walt Disney Feature Animation staffers on January 9, 1998 – was titled: Lilo & Stitch: A love story of a girl and what she thinks is a dog.
This early version of Stitch was… not cute. Not cuddly. He was mean, selfish, self-centered – a career criminal. When the story opens, Stitch is in a security pod at an intergalactic trial, found guilty of 12,000 counts of hooliganism and attempted planetary enslavement.
Instead of being created by Jumba, Stitch leads a gang of marauders. His second-in-command? Ramthar, a giant, red shark-like brute.
When Stitch refuses to reveal the gang’s location, he’s sentenced to life on a maximum-security asteroid. But en route, his gang attacks the prison convoy. In the chaos, Stitch escapes in a hijacked pod and crash-lands on Earth.


Earth in Danger, Jumba on the Hunt
Terrified of what Stitch could do to our technologically inferior planet, the Grand Council Woman sends bounty hunter Jumba – along with a rule-abiding Cultural Contamination Control agent named Pleakley – to retrieve (or eliminate) Stitch.
Their mission must be secret, follow Earth laws, and – most importantly – ensure no harm comes to any humans.
Naturally, Stitch ignores all that.
After his crash, Stitch claws out of the wreckage, sees the lights of a nearby town, and screams, “I will destroy you all!” That plan is immediately derailed when he’s run over by a convoy of sugar cane trucks.
Waking up in the local humane society, Stitch sees a news report confirming the Federation is already hot on his trail. He needs to blend in. Fast.
Enter Lilo
Lilo is a lonely little girl, mourning her parents, looking for a pet. Stitch plays the role of a “cute little doggie” because it’s a means to an end. At this point, Lilo is just someone to use while he builds a communications device.
Using parts from her toys and a stolen police radio, Stitch contacts his old gang. But Ramthar, now the leader, isn’t thrilled. Still, Stitch sends a signal.
Then he builds an army.
Stitch Goes Full Skynet
Stitch constructs a small robot, sends it to the junkyard to build bigger robots. Soon, he has an army. When Ramthar and crew arrive, Stitch’s robots surround them. Ramthar is furious, but Stitch regains command.
Next, Stitch sets his robotic horde on a nearby town. Everything goes smoothly until a robot targets the hula studio where Lilo is dancing. As it lifts her in its claw, Stitch has a change of heart. He saves her.
From here, the plot begins to resemble the Lilo & Stitch we know today. Sort of.
The Ending That Never Was
In Sanders’ original version, it’s not Captain Gantu who kidnaps Lilo, but Ramthar. And when the Grand Council Woman comes to collect Stitch, Lilo produces a receipt from the humane society.
“I paid a $4 processing fee to adopt him. If you take Stitch, you’re stealing.”
The Grand Council Woman crumples the receipt and says, “I didn’t see it.”
Nani chimes in: “Well, I saw it.”
Then Jumba. Then one of Stitch’s old crew. Then a hula girl. And finally, Pleakley pulls out his CCC badge and says:
“Well, I am Pleakley Grathor, Cultural Contamination Control Agent No. 444. And I saw it.”
Pleakley saves Stitch.


How Roy E. Disney Made Stitch Cuddly
Ultimately, this version of Lilo & Stitch was streamlined. Roy E. Disney believed Stitch shouldn’t be nasty. Just naughty. And not by choice – he was designed that way.
Which is how Stitch became Experiment 626. A misunderstood creation of Jumba the mad scientist, not a hardened criminal with a vendetta.
The rest, as they say, is history.

Ricardo Montalbán’s Lost Role
Here’s a detail that even hardcore Lilo & Stitch fans may not know: Ricardo Montalbán—best known as Mr. Roarke from Fantasy Island and Khan Noonien Singh from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan—was originally cast as the voice of Ramthar, Stitch’s second-in-command in this early version of the film. He had already recorded a significant amount of dialogue before the story was reworked following Roy E. Disney’s guidance. When Stitch evolved from a ruthless galactic outlaw to a misunderstood genetic experiment, Montalbán’s character (and much of the original gang concept) was written out entirely.
Which is kind of wild when you think about it. Wrath of Khan is widely considered the gold standard of Star Trek films. So yes, for a time, Khan himself was supposed to be part of Disney’s weirdest sci-fi comedy.
Stitch’s Legacy (and Why It Still Resonates)
Looking back at Stitch’s original story, it’s wild to think how close we came to getting a very different kind of movie. One where our favorite blue alien was less “ohana means family” and more “I’ll destroy you all.” But that transformation—from outlaw to outcast to ohana—is exactly what makes Lilo & Stitch so special.
So as the live-action version prepares to hit theaters, keep in mind that behind all the cuddly merch and tiki mugs lies one of Disney’s strangest, boldest, and most hard-won reinventions. One that started with a forest monster and became a beloved franchise about found family.
June 26th is officially Stitch Day—so mark your calendar. It’s a good excuse to celebrate just how far this little blue alien has come.
Film & Movies
How “An American Tail” Led to Disney’s “Hocus Pocus”

Over the last week, I’ve been delving into Witches Run Amok, Shannon Carlin’s oral history of the making of Disney’s Hocus Pocus. This book reveals some fascinating behind-the-scenes stories about the 1993 film that initially bombed at the box office but has since become a cult favorite, even spawning a sequel in 2022 that went on to become the most-watched release in Disney+ history.
But what really caught my eye in this 284-page hardcover wasn’t just the tales of Hocus Pocus’s unlikely rise to fame. Rather, it was the unexpected connections between Hocus Pocus and another beloved film—An American Tail. As it turns out, the two films share a curious origin story, one that begins in the mid-1980s, during the early days of the creative rebirth of Walt Disney Studios under Michael Eisner, Frank Wells, and Jeffrey Katzenberg.
The Birth of An American Tail
Let’s rewind to late 1984/early 1985, a period when Eisner, Wells, and Katzenberg were just getting settled at Disney and were on the hunt for fresh projects that would signal a new era at the studio. During this time, Katzenberg—tasked with revitalizing Disney Feature Animation—began meeting with talent across Hollywood, hoping to find a project that could breathe life into the struggling division.
One such meeting was with a 29-year-old writer and illustrator named David Kirschner. At the time, Kirschner’s biggest credit was illustrating children’s books featuring Muppets and Sesame Street characters, but he had an idea for a new project: a TV special about a mouse emigrating to America, culminating in the mouse’s arrival in New York Harbor on the same day as the dedication of the Statue of Liberty in 1886.

Katzenberg saw the patriotic appeal of the concept but ultimately passed on it, as he was focused on finding full-length feature projects for Disney’s animation department. Kirschner, undeterred, took his pitch elsewhere—to none other than Kathleen Kennedy, Steven Spielberg’s production partner. Kennedy was intrigued and invited Kirschner to Spielberg’s annual Fourth of July party to pitch the idea directly to the famed director.
Spielberg immediately saw the potential in Kirschner’s idea, but instead of a TV special, he envisioned a full-length animated feature film. This project would eventually become An American Tail, a tribute of sorts to Spielberg’s own grandfather, Philip Posner, who emigrated from Russia to the United States in the late 19th century. The film’s lead character, Fievel, was even named after Spielberg’s grandfather, whose Yiddish name was also Fievel.
Disney’s Loss Becomes Universal’s Gain
An American Tail went on to become a major success for Universal Pictures, which hadn’t been involved in an animated feature since the release of Pinocchio in Outer Space in 1965. Meanwhile, over at Disney, Eisner and Wells weren’t exactly thrilled that Katzenberg had let such a promising project slip through his fingers.
Not wanting to miss out on any future opportunities with Kirschner, Katzenberg quickly scheduled another meeting with him to discuss any other ideas he might have. And as fate would have it, Kirschner had just written a short story for Muppet Magazine called Halloween House, about a boy who is magically transformed into a cat by a trio of witches.
The Pitch That Sealed the Deal
Knowing Katzenberg could be a tough sell, Kirschner went all out to impress during his pitch. He requested access to the Disney lot 30 minutes early to set the stage for his presentation. When Katzenberg and the Disney development team walked into the conference room, they were greeted by a table covered in candy corn, a cauldron of dry ice fog, and a broom, mop, and vacuum cleaner suspended from the ceiling as if they were flying—evoking the magical world of Halloween House.
Katzenberg was reportedly unimpressed by the theatrical setup, muttering, “Oy, show-and-tell time” as he took his seat. But Kirschner knew exactly how to grab his attention. He started his pitch with the fact that Halloween was a billion-dollar business—a figure that made Katzenberg sit up and take notice. He listened attentively to Kirschner’s pitch, and by the time the meeting was over, Katzenberg was convinced. Halloween House would become Hocus Pocus, and Disney had its next big Halloween film.
A Bit of Hollywood Drama
Interestingly, Kirschner’s success with Hocus Pocus didn’t sit well with his old collaborators. About a year after the film’s release, Kirschner ran into Kathleen Kennedy at an Amblin holiday party, and she wasted no time in expressing her disappointment. According to Kirschner, Kennedy said, “You really hurt Steven.” When Kirschner asked how, she explained that Spielberg and Kennedy had given him his big break with An American Tail, but when he came up with the idea for his next film, he brought it to Disney rather than to them.
Hollywood can be a place where loyalty is valued—or, at least, perceived loyalty. At the same time, this was happening just as Katzenberg was leaving Disney and partnering with Spielberg and David Geffen to launch DreamWorks SKG, which only added to the tension. Loyalty, as Kirschner found out, can be an abstract concept in the entertainment industry.
A Halloween Favorite is Born
Despite its rocky start at the box office in 1993, Hocus Pocus has gone on to become a beloved part of Halloween pop culture. And, as Carlin’s book details, its success helped pave the way for more Disney Halloween-themed projects in the years that followed.

As for why Hocus Pocus was released in July of 1993 instead of during Halloween? That’s a story for another time, but it has something to do with another Halloween-themed project Disney was working on that year—Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas—and Katzenberg finding himself in the awkward position of having to choose between keeping Bette Midler or Tim Burton happy.
For more behind-the-scenes stories about Hocus Pocus and other Disney films, be sure to check out Witches Run Amok by Shannon Carlin. It’s a fascinating read for any Disney fan!
And if you love hearing these kinds of behind-the-scenes stories about animation and film history, be sure to check out Fine Tooning with Drew Taylor, where Drew and I dive deep into all things movies, animation, and the creative decisions that shape the films we love. You can find us on your favorite podcast platforms or right here on JimHillMedia.com.
Film & Movies
How Disney’s “Bambi” led to the creation of Smokey Bear

When people talk about Disney’s “Bambi,” the scene that they typically cite as being the one from this 1942 film which then scarred them for life is – of course – the moment in this movie where Bambi’s mother gets shot by hunters.
Which is kind of ironic. Given that – if you watch this animated feature today – you’ll see that a lot of this ruined-my-childhood scene actually happens off-camera. I mean, you hear the rifle shot that takes down Bambi’s Mom. But you don’t actually see that Mama Deer get clipped.
Now for the scariest part of that movie that you actually see on-camera … Hands down, that has to be the forest fire sequence in “Bambi.” As the grown-up Bambi & his bride, Faline, desperately race through those woods, trying to find a path to safety as literally everything around them is ablaze … That sequence is literally nightmare fuel.

Mind you, the artists at Walt Disney Animation Studios had lots of inspiration for the forest fire sequence in “Bambi.” You see, in a typical year, the United States experiences – due to either natural phenomenon like lightning strikes or human carelessness – 100 forest fires. Whereas in 1940 (i.e., the year that Disney Studios began working in earnest of a movie version of Felix Salten’s best-selling movie), America found itself battling a record 360 forest fires.
Which greatly concerned the U.S. Forest Service. But not for the reason you might think.
Protecting the Forest for World War II
I mean, yes. Sure. Officials over in the Agricultural Department (That’s the arm of the U.S. government that manages the Forest Service) were obviously concerned about the impact that this record number of forest fires in 1940 had had on citizens. Not to mention all of the wildlife habitat that was now lost.
But to be honest, what really concerned government officials was those hundreds of thousands of acres of raw timber that had been consumed by these blazes. You see, by 1940, the world was on the cusp of the next world war. A conflict that the U.S. would inevitably be pulled into. And all that now-lost timber? It could have been used to fuel the U.S. war machine.
So with this in mind (and U.S. government officials now seeing an urgent need to preserve & protect this precious resource) … Which is why – in 1942 (just a few months after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor) – the U.S. Forest Service rolls out its first-ever forest fire prevention program.
Which – given that this was the early days of World War II – the slogan that the U.S. Forest Service initially chose for its forest fire prevention program is very in that era’s we’re-all-in-this-together / so-let’s-do-what-we-can-to-help-America’s war-effort esthetic – made a direct appeal to all those folks who were taking part in scrap metal drives: “Forest Defense is National Defense.”

And the poster that the U.S. Forest Service had created to support this campaign? … Well, it was well-meaning as well. It was done in the WPA style and showed men out in the forest, wielding shovels to ditch a ditch. They were trying to construct a fire break, which would then supposedly slow the forest fire that was directly behind them.
But the downside was … That “Forest Defense is National Defense” slogan – along with that poster which the U.S. Forest Service had created to support their new forest fire prevention program didn’t exactly capture America’s attention.
I mean, it was the War Years after all. A lot was going in the country at that time. But long story short: the U.S. Forest Service’s first attempt at launching a successful forest fire prevention program sank without a trace.
So what do you do in a situation like this? You regroup. You try something different.
Disney & Bambi to the Rescue
And within the U.S. government, the thinking now was “Well, what if we got a celebrity to serve as the spokesman for our new forest fire prevention program? Maybe that would then grab the public’s attention.”
The only problem was … Well, again, these are the War Years. And a lot of that era’s A-listers (people like Jimmy Stewart, Clark Gable, even Mel Brooks) had already enlisted. So there weren’t really a lot of big-name celebrities to choose from.
But then some enterprising official at the U.S. Forest Service came up with an interesting idea. He supposedly said “Hey, have you seen that new Disney movie? You know, the one with the deer? That movie has a forest fire in it. Maybe we should go talk with Walt Disney? Maybe he has some ideas about how we can better capture the public’s attention when it comes to our new forest fire prevention program?”
And it turns Walt did have an idea. Which was to use this government initiative as a way to cross-promote Disney Studio’s latest full-length animated feature, “Bambi.” Which been first released to theaters in August of 1942.
So Walt had artists at Disney Studio work up a poster that featured the grown-up versions of Bambi the Deer, Thumper the Rabbit & Flower the Skunk. As this trio stood in some tall grasses, they looked imploring out at whoever was standing in front of this poster. Above them was a piece of text that read “Please Mister, Don’t Be Careless.” And below these three cartoon characters was an additional line that read “Prevent Forest Fires. Greater Danger Than Ever!”

According to folks I’ve spoken with at Disney’s Corporate Archives, this “Bambi” -based promotional campaign for the U.S. Forest Service’s forest fire prevention campaign was a huge success. So much so that – as 1943 drew to a close – this division of the Department of Agriculture reportedly reached out to Walt to see if he’d be willing to let the U.S. Forest Service continue to use these cartoon characters to help raise the public’s awareness of fire safety.
Walt – for reasons known only to Mr. Disney – declined. Some have suggested that — because “Bambi” had actually lost money during its initial theatrical release in North America – that Walt was now looking to put that project behind him. And if there were posters plastered all over the place that then used the “Bambi” characters that then promoted the U.S.’s forest fire prevention efforts … Well, it would then be far harder for Mr. Disney to put this particular animated feature in the rear view mirror.
Introducing Smokey Bear
Long story short: Walt said “No” when it came to reusing the “Bambi” characters to promote the U.S. Forest Service’s forest fire prevention program. But given how successful the previous cartoon-based promotional campaign had been … Well, some enterprising employee at the Department of Agriculture reportedly said “Why don’t we come up with a cartoon character of our own?”
So – for the Summer of 1944 – the U.S. Forest Service (with the help of the Ad Council and the National Association of State Foresters) came up with a character to help promote the prevention of forest fires. And his name is Smokey Bear.
Now a lot of thought had gone into Smokey’s creation. Right from the get-go, it was decided that he would be an American black bear (NOT a brown bear or a grizzly). To make this character seem approachable, Smokey was outfitted with a ranger’s hat. He also wore a pair of blue jeans & carried a bucket.
As for his debut poster, Smokey was depicted as pouring water over a still-smoldering campfire. And below this cartoon character was printed Smokey’s initial catchphrase. Which was “Care will prevent 9 out of 10 forest fires!”

Which makes me think that this slogan was written by the very advertising executive who wrote “Four out of five dentists recommend sugarless gum for their patients who chew gum.”
Anyway … By the Summer of 1947, Smokey got a brand-new slogan. The one that he uses even today. Which is “Only YOU can prevent forest fires.”
The Real Smokey Bear
Now where this gets interesting is – in the Summer of 1950 – there was a terrible forest fire up in the Capitan Mountains of New Mexico. And over the course of this blaze, a bear cub climbed high up into a tree to try & escape those flames.
Firefighters were finally able to rescue that cub. But he was so badly injured in that fire that he was shipped off to the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. and nursed back to health. And since this bear really couldn’t be released back in the wild at this point, he was then put on exhibit.
And what does this bear’s keepers decide to call him? You guessed it: Smokey.

And due to all the news coverage that this orphaned bear got, he eventually became the living symbol of the U.S. Forest Service’s forest fire prevention program. Which then meant that this particular Smokey Bear got hit with a ton of fan mail. So much so that the National Zoo in Washington D.C. wound up with its own Zip Code.
“Smokey the Bear” Hit Song
And on the heels of a really-for-real Smokey Bear taking up residence in our nation’s capital, Steve Nelson & Jack Rollins decide to write a song that shined a spotlight on this fire-fightin’ bruin. Here’s the opening stanza:
With a ranger’s hat and shovel and a pair of dungarees,
You will find him in the forest always sniffin’ at the breeze,
People stop and pay attention when he tells them to beware
Because everybody knows that he’s the fire-preventin’ bear
Believe or not, even with lyrics like these, “Smokey the Bear” briefly topped the Country charts in the Summer of 1950. Thanks to a version of this song that was recorded by Gene Autry, the Singing Cowboy.
By the way, it was this song that started all of the confusion in regards to Smokey Bear’s now. You see, Nelson & Rollins – because they need the lyrics of their song to scan properly – opted to call this fire-fightin’-bruin Smokey THE Bear. Rather than Smokey Bear. Which has been this cartoon character’s official name since the U.S. Forest Service first introduced him back in 1944.
“The Ballad of Smokey the Bear”
Further complicating this issue was “The Ballad of Smokey the Bear,” which was a stop-motion animated special that debuted on NBC in late November of 1966. Produced by Rankin-Bass as a follow-up to their hugely popular “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” (which premiered on the Peacock Network in December of 1964) … This hour-long TV show also put a “THE” in the middle of Smokey Bear’s name because the folks at Rankin-Bass thought his name sounded better that way.
And speaking of animation … Disney’s “Bambi” made a brief return to the promotional campaign for the U.S. Forest Service’s forest fire prevention program in the late 1980s. This was because the Company’s home entertainment division had decided to release this full-length animated feature on VHS.
What’s kind of interesting, though, is the language used on the “Bambi” poster is a wee different than the language that’s used on Smokey’s poster. It reads “Protect Our Forest Friends. Only You Can Prevent Wildfires.” NOT “Forest Fires.”
Anyway, that’s how Disney’s “Bambi” led to the creation of Smokey Bear. Thanks for bearin’ with me as I clawed my way through this grizzly tale.
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