A Cub Reporter’s Brush with Snow White

Original 1937 Movie Poster

One thing good about posting what I’ve been doing on Facebook is that the writing brings back memories, memories long filed in the recesses of my mind.

In brain barrels. Someone once told me that our brains are full of barrels, and that everything we hear, see, taste, feel or smell is stored in them, there to age and ripen, and to meld into what we call memories.

Then, as we age, the barrels fill up, and the memories on the top slowly slop over the edges of the barrels. The older stuff hangs around on the bottoms, aging and waiting for the barrels to be stirred.

A few weeks ago, I subscribed to Disney+ and began watching classic animated features (e.g, Pinocchio, Lady and the Tramp, Dumbo, Cinderella). One day, I inadvertently stirred the contents of one barrel.

Maestro Guido Caselotti

Back in the late ‘60s, when I was a Copley Newspapers trainee for the Alhambra Post-Advocate in the west San Gabriel Valley near LA, I was assigned to write a story about long-time voice and piano teacher Maestro Guido Caselotti (1884-1978).

Among the interesting things I learned about him in a fascinating two-hour interview with the maestro was that he had done some work for Walt Disney. “Done some work”—what an understatement!

One of his tasks was to cast dialogue and singing voices for “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” (1937), considered to be Disney’s greatest cinematic achievement.

Adriana Caselotti

Mr. Caselotti told me his 19-year-old daughter, Adriana, was a student of his and was quite a talented singer. He ended up casting her as the title character, Snow White.

Doing some research for this blog article, I found out that she made $20 a day for her work as Snow White, a total of $970, rather a tidy sum in the day.

When I got back to the newsroom, I sat at my manual Royal typewriter, rolled in some paper, and began writing. After I submitted the story, our editor did a bunch of changes, transforming the prose from an amateur’s attempt into a polished story.

The actual clipping, as it appeared in the Post-Advocate, is attached at the bottom. It pictures Maestro Guido and his wife, Ana. Unfortunately, a few lines are missing. Blame my scanner, which could not accommodate the entire article. One of my first and better works, it was picked up by the Associated Press. In the next year or so, I met several news people who remembered the article and my name.

A week or so after the retirement feature ran, I got a call from Mr. Caselotti, telling me so many people read it and called him, wanting him to teach their children. He said he was forced to come out of retirement and thanked me profusely. I wrote an update about his status and was so touched and honored that I had enabled others to benefit from his knowledge.

See? Sitting in front of a TV screen does have its benefits.

Maestro Guido and Ana Caselotti