The fact that one of the most identifiable voices in American entertainment history is owned by a man who, according to his own account, never really set out to own it is quietly remarkable. Tony Anselmo did not try out for the role of Donald Duck. He didn’t run for the position. He inherited it from a friend who saw something in him long before he saw it in himself, not from a stranger. This is how you inherit something genuinely significant.
Fundamentally, the tale of Donald Duck’s voice is one of mentoring. It starts with Clarence Nash, the man who initially conceived the voice, rather than Anselmo. In the 1930s, Nash delivered milk and used his collection of animal impressions to amuse the kids along the way. His voices didn’t make much of an impression during a casual audition at the Disney Studios until he performed “Mary Had a Little Lamb” in a goat’s voice. Walt Disney just so happened to enter at that precise moment. “That’s our talking duck,” Disney allegedly remarked. After that, Nash spent fifty years reviving Donald’s temperamental, endearingly obstinate personality.
It wasn’t during a casting call that Nash eventually took a step back. It was via a medical room. Anselmo paid Nash a visit at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Burbank at the beginning of 1985. He was told quite bluntly by Nash that he was dying and that Anselmo would take over. Anselmo realized as he stood there that Nash’s years of casually stopping by his animation desk to challenge him with questions like “How would Donald say this?” had never been random. Nash had been getting ready for him. Silently, purposefully, and never under duress.
Driven by an almost obsessive curiosity about animation, Anselmo arrived at Disney as a teenager with a portfolio in hand. He spent his early years writing letters to Walt’s renowned “Nine Old Men,” the animators who created the Disney visual language, because he was fascinated by Mary Poppins as a child, especially the way animated characters and live actors coexisted in the same frame. In fact, a number of them responded in writing. That in and of itself reveals something about Anselmo. Not everyone who appears is taken seriously. Yes, he did.
After he stated that he couldn’t afford to attend CalArts, the Disney family eventually provided funding. This was not a calculated move. Joe Ranft and Tim Burton were in the same class as him. Such educational experiences are becoming less common in the world.
Most people probably don’t realize how physically taxing it is to voice Donald. Anselmo can become dizzy after just one prolonged tantrum. When he once asked Jack Hannah if Nash had gone through the same thing, Hannah said, in his gravelly voice, “Yes, Clarence had fainted in the studio multiple times.” Anselmo has strict guidelines, such as not eating before 11 a.m. and not recording before that time. Some words just don’t work for Donald; words that begin with “t” sound like “d,” and words that have two “s” blur into something unrecognizable. The workaround—finding another word that has the same meaning—became instinctive over decades.
The most notable aspect of Anselmo’s strategy is probably his emphasis on upholding the integrity of the character. He pushes back when screenwriters give him lines that don’t feel right—too casual, too modern, or out of character for Donald. Never would Donald say “Hey, baby.” He would say, “Hiya toots.” It may not seem important, but that distinction is crucial. It’s the distinction between a character that feels borrowed and one that feels lived in.
Anselmo says he is not the owner of Donald’s voice, but rather its steward. Instead of being performative, that framing has a modesty that feels earned. He has been in the position for more than 27 years, was named a Disney Legend in 2009, and animated many of the characters he went on to voice, which is a unique combination in the business. In his words, the torch will eventually pass once more. All he can hope is that whoever takes it next realizes how serious it is.
