My mentor: Daws Butler
“I’m gonna give him a call.” I did and after exchanging letters over several months, Daws became my mentor.

Most of them are pure hokum. I’m not hokum, tho’—and I’m old enough to be pure.” And he signed it, “Take care—and don’t be cosmetic unless you’re going out on a Saturday night. Your well-meaning mentor, Daws.”

Give your ol’ mentor a hug!” On Sundays, I would catch the number 86 bus into Beverly Hills to work with Daws. He and I were to do a one-hour lesson, working with his own material—reading, changing, adjusting, working with the microphone, editing—just having a great time.

Most of them are pure hokum. I’m not hokum, tho’—and I’m old enough to be pure.” And he signed it, “Take care—and don’t be cosmetic unless you’re going out on a Saturday night. Your well-meaning mentor, Daws.”

Give your ol’ mentor a hug!” On Sundays, I would catch the number 86 bus into Beverly Hills to work with Daws. He and I were to do a one-hour lesson, working with his own material—reading, changing, adjusting, working with the microphone, editing—just having a great time.

“Talent cannot be taught. It must exist,” he once said. “But if it does exist at all, it can be nurtured and expanded.” So, the hour-long lesson was never an hour. It always expanded into no less than four.
talent talent talent
paralax daws
Daws and I would just lose ourselves in the studio. And then, after months of hard work, he brought me with him to a recording of The All-New Popeye Hour, in which he played Whimpy.
I watched in delight as he and the cast recorded the show. And then he introduced me as his protégée to the cast and to the director who would give me my first professional voice-acting job. Daws Butler was my coach, mentor, surrogate Dad and inspiration. He is always with me.
Thank you, Daws, my mentor, my friend—for opening up your door to me to let my voice out.