“Western Electric developed a new sound system that was sound on a record. They had a deal with Warner Brothers for The Jazz Singer (1927). Shortly after that Western Electric produced sound on film and all the theaters were desperate to obtain sound equipment. To get it they had to agree to run a film explaining the process the week before they started the regular run. This was a single reel Max Fleischer and I made. I got the contract and Max and I worked together on it. The film was to explain to the public how film got its voice. We showed a little roll of film- a character with sprocket holes, legs and what not. He’s sent into a Dr. Western who examines him and looks in his mouth. No cords, he can’t talk. The doctor takes his pulse. I’ll never forget. Fleischer put in a little jumping pulse as a sight gag. The doctor puts his finger on it and it moves away. He puts his finger on it again and it jumps back. Then he takes the character into a sound studio where he sings “Just a Song at Twilight” into a microphone. We showed how the sound waves went into the mike and were carried along the wires to the sound track stripe. It was simplified and the audience caught on right away.” Kirkpatrick, Diane. "Animation Gold." Cinegram Magazine 1978: 30. Print.  Reprinted by permission of Diane Kirkpatrick.

"To cut a long and depressing story short, Max and Dave found it impossible to work for Weiss and quit the company. Shortly after they resigned, Weiss declared bankruptcy and disappeared. 

 "Max and Dave were well and truly in deep trouble. They had barely enough money to hire one or two animators but not enough to rent studio space. Things were what can best be described as bleak— until, one night, my father came home looking somehow strange. I suppose I’d never before seen him with an expression of shock on his face. He came into the kitchen and said to my mother: “Essie, sit down. I’ve got something to tell you.” She sat down, looking puzzled and a little scared. My father seemed to be fighting back some inner emotion. Then, quietly, he told her the news. A dear friend of his, Frank Goldman, one of the owners of Carpenter-Goldman, a film- processing laboratory based in Long Island City, had heard of the fix Max was in and had offered him space in his company’s quarters for free— and for as long as he wanted it. 

"My mother sat there dumbfounded for a moment, then slowly put her hands to her mouth and started to cry. My father stood there, his lower lip trembling, his eyes blinking as they filled with tears. She got up and embraced him. He was now laughing and crying at the same time, and so was she. It was a tableau that has never faded from my mind. I was thirteen at the time and old enough to recognize that my father’s reaction was not simply one of relief but one of being tremendously touched by the friendship of Frank Goldman."  

Photo of Fleischer Studios staff, taken outside Goldman-Carpenter Labs, Long Island City, where the studio was located for about a year in 1929. Front row l. to r.: possibly Sid Wallick, Edith Vernick, George Cannata, Seymour Kneitel, Max Fleischer, Charles Shettler, Sid Marcus. Al Eugster behind Vernick (with hat and cigar). Behind Cannata and S. Kneitel is Abner Kneitel. Wearing a white hat (on left) is Rudy Zamora. In distance behind Seymour is Joe Fleischer (wearing suspenders), William Henning is man with his hand on the window. 1929.