When in the course of human events it becomes incumbent upon the people to recognize and, furthermore, to honor, deceased genius in whatsoever capacity and in whomsoever it had chosen to manifest itself, we should be extremely ignorant (and we shouldn’t be) not to call upon the services of another similarly gifted individual to preside over whatever bittersweet rites for that we can be assured their moldering object is the peacefuller (if hereafter forever unwitting). This being the case, you can easily imagine how blithe I was when I heard that someone in the Cinefamily had the delicacy of taste and enough horse sense to get Neil Hamburger on the blower and beg him to rush to their home on Fairfax Avenue this past July 3 to host a belated tribute to one of the 20th century’s most beloved stars of the silver screen.
Tell me something. Are you a drinker? That is, do you like to drink? Don’t be a fool, we all do. And when you drink, you’re not just cupping at it with your hands like one of the lower animals that’s lucky enough to have hands. No, of course you’re not. You’re using a simple machine and I’ve already given you a hint as to what it’s called. Give up? Why, it’s a cup you wastrel. Unless you like the taste of sweat and bodily oils, you probably use a cup every day and chances are, if you work or study in one of this proud nation’s many institutions, you’re using a Solo Cup, whose many lines of hardy, single use cups are depended upon by thirsty, hardworking men and women the world over. Slurping down your sugared syrups and gas-inducing carbonics, you probably never even pause to think about the flesh and blood people and two people especially who sweated and strained and broke their backs just for the paltry cause of your refreshment as you belch away endlessly. Well, let me introduce them to you. One of those people was Leo Hulseman, former Dixie Cup cup-wright turned genius designer of the revolutionary Solo Cup and founder of the multi-billion dollar enterprise of the same name. The other was Dora Hall.
For every genius, there is a genius behind the genius. That genius was Dora Hall.
“Gorgeous” Dolores Hall came of age in our nation’s finest hour, in the heart of the first great war and the “cando-ism” of that stalwart time left an indelible stamp upon her charming person. This rosy-cheeked, corn-haired young dove from somewhere in the American midwest sang the kind of old-timey sentimental songs that could make you want to cry into your beer or raise up your voice and join in the general fun. It wasn’t long before enterprising producers at the USO were whisking her away to exotic locales in Europe to entertain homesick troops with hot-to-trot song and dance numbers served up family style. It also wasn’t long before she trotted into the heart of enterprising young cup-man Leo Hulseman, whereupon love put a lid on showbiz. Soon they were married and before you could say “Minneola” her womb was rich with the first of what would be many young squires and squirettes. With Leo busy with the nascent Solo empire, the task of remaining impregnated and raising children fell squarely on the shoulders of young Dora. She accepted the grave and sacred responsibility with stoicism typical of her modest prairie upbringing, but under one condition. Dora made her husband promise that once the fledglings had flown the coop, he would help her back to the stage where she might again share the brilliant lightness of her musical and dance routines with the entertainment hungry hoi polloi she had come to love so well. Naturally, Leo consented like the gentleman he was and neither partner ever forgot the promise.
When at last the kids were packed away and the Solo Cup dream had become a reality, Dora drew against the check she and Leo had signed so long ago. With more than “sufficient” funds, Dora was back in business. Show business.
With the full faith and confidence of the Solo Cup company behind her, Dora got her groove back with a series of Solo financed LPs throughout the 1960s featuring a mixture of classic songs and mirth-inducing original sketch routines. In a legendary bout of largesse these were provided to consumers at no additional cost along with purchases of Solo Cups products. Having broken the sound barrier, Dora set her sights on celluloid and Leo was only too willing to oblige. Throughout the next two decades, Dora scintillated viewers with a rich patina of entertainments from children’s programming, to gripping psychological drama to star-studded variety spectaculars—all offered free to the consumer either packaged with Solo products or delivered through the mail in exchange for proof of purchase. With a fan club numbering nearly 50,000, a full production studio in Solo subsidiary Premore inc. at her disposal, and no less than two awards of excellence from the film advisory board, this grandmother of 16 seemed poised to break into the big time even as she neared her 90th birthday. Unfortunately, as the case so often is, fate had other plans and gentle Dora struck out solo before she truly struck out solo.
Thanks to the efforts of her legions of fans, the Cinefamily and world renowned entertainers such as Neil Hamburger, however, Dora’s name has not been lost to the ages. At the very special July 3rd retrospective, on what would have been her one hundred and eleventh year on this Earth, the side-splitting class act Hamburger, waxed nostalgic as the curator of a heartfelt tribute to one of his heroes and a primary inspiration for his own brilliant brand of family-friendly, Borscht-belt broadsides. Like his tinsel-town godmother, Hall, Hamburger knows how to beat the blues without resorting to blue material, which made him the perfect pick to guide us through the sparkling legacy of the late comedienne, which he did with squeaky-clean humor and aplomb (along with his signature hacking cough and ever present old-fashioned), peppering the evening’s three heartwarming video presentations with personal anecdotes about growing up in the shadow of Dora along with a few trademark drolleries about the latest “stars” such as pop-idol Britney Spears and one particularly memorable dressing down of contemporary rock musician, Mick Jagger.
When the evening ended, there was nary a dry eye in the auditorium (this reviewer included), although that may have been the result of the hellacious issue that some disgusting nearby person was apparently incapable of suppressing until he or she exited the theater. Therefore, I was not alone in my rage when, as the presentation concluded and Mr. Hamburger asked if anyone had any questions or comments regarding the material or Dora’s legacy, one drunken miscreant had the mendacity to suggest that the Solo Cup company had engineered the infamous “Two girls, One Cup” debacle of 2008 as some sort of sick publicity stunt, nor was I alone in raising my voice to chorus Hamburger’s emphatic recommendation to that same person to please, “CRAWL BACK INTO THE SEWER WHERE YOU LIVE!”
by Seth Blake
an Associate Editor for Black Clock and an MFA Writing candidate at CalArts
