Margaret Hamilton

Mention the name Margaret Hamilton to a Millennial, and chances are they won't be able to pick her out of a line-up. Quote her most famous line, however, and watch their eyes blink awake with recognition: "I'll get you my pretty! ....and your little dog, too!" The woman behind of cinema's most iconic villains, Cleveland-born Margaret Brainard Hamilton was, as a young girl, enchanted by L. Frank Baum's fantastical Oz tales, and impulsively drawn to the theater.

Decades later, with her Technicolor-green visage, reverberating cackle, and nightmarish troop of flying monkeys, Hamilton terrified generations of children in the classic MGM musical, "The Wizard of Oz" (1939). Ironic, perhaps, given her inherently kind-hearted nature, but telling, no doubt, of her monumental talent and unwavering commitment to craft.

The imaginative daughter of prominent lawyer, Hamilton's benevolent disposition and love of children made her a natural in her initial career as a kindergarten teacher (a profession her parents encouraged for practical reasons). Even so, she never gave up on her dream of becoming an actor. In 1923, at the age of 21, Hamilton made her stage debut in a Cleveland Play House production of "The Man Who Ate Popomac."

Her talent blossoming over the course of the next three years, Hamilton made considerable wear on those sturdy midwestern boards. And while it was without question a big step to Broadway, Hamilton made the stride effortlessly with her Broadway debut in a Majestic Theater production of "Another Language." So memorable was Hamilton in the role of a waspish spinster that Hollywood producers lured her to the West Coast to reprise the character in the 1936 film adaptation of the same name.

On the big screen, Hamilton's withering sneer registered stronger than ever, and vicious tongue lashings cracked through the air in those cavernous movie houses like a bullwhip in an arena. Three years later, Hamilton showed a gentler side in Chatterbox (1936). Though her stern screen presence and impeccable rapid-fire delivery brought her steady work throughout the 1930s, those same traits also led to her being typecast as the busybody spinster or the disapproving aunt.

Meanwhile, at MGM, preparations were being made to adapt one of Baum's beloved Oz stories to the big screen. Hamilton read in the trades that Gail Sundergaard was planning to go glamorous with her interpretation of the dreaded Wicked Witch of the West. Around this time, Hamilton and her agent Jeff Smith were attending a football game when they recognized Producer Mervyn LeRoy in the crowd. When LeRoy expressed interest in working with Hamilton, Smith started bargaining. Initially, Hamilton was hired to work on The Wizard of Oz for six weeks. By the time the shoot wrapped, Hamilton had not only worked a total of twenty-three weeks, but also suffered second and third-degree burns during the scene in which her character makes a flashfire exit from Munchkinland.

Of course it's widely known today that The Wizard of Oz, despite being adored by critics and nominated for six Academy Awards, wasn't exactly a financial windfall for MGM. In fact, the film that would forever change the landscape of American pop culture failed to turn a profit until the re-release a decade later.

Even so, the secret of The Wizard of Oz's enduring popularity wasn't the effect it had on moviegoers as much as it was the impact it had on television audiences following its network television premiere in 1956. A resounding success, the film was not re-broadcast again until 1959, when its airing at an earlier time slot than before made it an tradition in countless American households over the course of the next three decades.

Meanwhile, Hamilton worked steadily in film throughout the 1940s, but turned almost exclusively to television work throughout the 1950s. The 1960s found her striking a happy balance between the two mediums, and in 1976 Hamilton -- then appearing in Maxwell House coffee commercials -- ruffled feathers with a guest appearance on Sesame Street (PBS 1969-) was deemed too frightening for television, and never rebroadcast. A stroll into "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood" fared better as Hamilton good-naturedly donned her classic witch costume while lamenting the fact that the character frightened so many children.

On May 16, 1985, Margaret Hamilton died from a heart attack in Salisbury, Connecticut. She was 82.