On the occasion of Bugs Bunny's 50th anniversary, I wrote a feature page cover appreciation of my favorite cartoon character. One of our staff artists, Larry Stephens, drew a great Bugs in a trenchcoat, looking very much like Humphrey Bogart -- cool. We decided to run it by Warner Bros. since Bugs is trademarked and the studio warned us against using it -- because Warren Beatty's "Dick Tracy" was coming out and they thought it looked like something from that film. So we used some WB stock art instead. After the thing was published, I sent a clip to the WB press people as a courtesy, and they were so thrilled with it they had it cleaned up from the newsprint version on beautiful white Velox paper and sent me back a rolled copy suitable for framing.
By DONALD PORTER
Standard-Examiner staff
They say Bugs Bunny turns 50 this year. Which is like saying the Bible is a thick book -- it simply doesn't begin to tell the story. Bugs Bunny is ageless, so his being 50 years old is irrelevant -- except that it gives us one helluva good excuse to think about him.
So, on Easter Sunday as bunnies come to mind, let's do just that: Picture ol' Bugs in your mind. What do you see? Maybe he's casually nibbling a carrot and asking, "What's up, Doc?" while Elmer Fudd's double-barreled shotgun rests on the bridge of his nose. Or he has Yosemite Sam in such a snit that the mustachioed hothead is bouncing up and down on the heels of his boots like a superball on concrete. Or perhaps Daffy Duck is trying -- in eternal futility -- to outwit that wascally wabbit.
Whatever image springs to your mind, one thing's certain: You are smiling. It's impossible to ponder the Bugster and not smile. Einstein proved that; look it up.
Nobody ever gets the best of Bugs, because even in defeat -- which is rare -- Bugs has the last word. He is the coolest. The hippest. The best that's ever been.
I interviewed Bill Murray at the University Park Hotel in Salt Lake City. When I arrived in the lobby a few minutes early, I sat on a chair and opened my notebook to jot down a few topics I wanted to discuss when I was summoned upstairs; I was the first interviewer of the morning, with Chris Hicks (Deseret News) and Terry Orme (Salt Lake Tribune) to follow. After only a minute or two, I heard some one saying loudly, "Don Porter. Calling Don Porter. Don Porter, please report to (whatever floor it was)." It was Bill Murray standing at an upstairs railing. Apparently he got such a kick out of it, Chris and Terry told me he did the same thing with them.
By DONALD PORTER
Standard· Examiner staff
SALT LAKE CITY -- It's 10 a.m. and the first thing Bill Murray does is apologize that he hasn't been awake long enough to clear the cobwebs from his brain.
He ambles up the hotel hallway, baseball cap on his head, wearing a windbreaker, jeans and loafers. He extends his hand, looking straight into his visitor's eyes and leads the way to his suite. In desperate need of a shave, he dispatches his minions to score a razor. Something double-bladed, preferably.
Shortly thereafter, a photographer appears. Murray responds with dismay. "God," he exclaims, "I hate to have my picture taken." Immediately, he's up off the couch, searching through his luggage and eventually pulling a dark-colored sweater on over his white shirt. "Nobody told me I was going to have to get dressed for this interview."
